The front cars had been loaded, had driven off and returned three times.
It was six o'clock before John appeared with Mrs. Rankin.

She heard Mrs. Rankin calling sharply to her to get down and give a hand
with the stretcher.

John and Mrs. Rankin were disputing.

_"Can't_ you shove it in at the bottom?" he was saying.

_"No._ The first cases _must_ go on top."

Her mouth snapped like a clamp. Her eyes were blazing. She was struggling
with the head of the stretcher while John heaved at the foot. He
staggered as he moved, and his face was sallow-white and drawn and
glistening. When Charlotte took the shafts from him they were slippery
with his sweat.

"Is he hurt?" she whispered.

"Very badly hurt," said Mrs. Rankin.

"John, I mean."

Mrs. Rankin snorted. "You'd better ask him."

John was slouching round to the front of the car, anxious to get out of
the sight and sound of her. He went with an uneven dropping movement of
one hip. Charlotte followed him.