The figure on the ground was a very young man--a boy, in fact. He was
roughly dressed, and sturdily built. His eyes were closed and he was very
pale.

"He got me out of the window when the car turned over," gasped Jane Ann.
"Then he fell with me and has either broken his leg, or twisted it----"

"Only strained, Miss," spoke the victim of the accident, opening his eyes
suddenly. Ruth saw that they were kind, brown eyes, with a deal of
patience in their glance. He was not the sort of chap to make much of a
trifle.

"But you can't walk on it," exclaimed Jane Ann, who was a large-framed
girl with even blacker hair than Helen's--straight as an Indian's--and
with flashing eyes. She was expensively dressed, although her torn frock
and coat were not in very good taste. She showed plainly a lack of that
motherly oversight all girls need.

"They'll come and fix me up after a time," said the strange youth,
patiently.

"That won't do," declared Ruth, quickly. "I suppose the doctors are busy
up there with other passengers?"

"Oh, yes," admitted Jane Ann. "Lots of people were hurt in the cars a good
deal worse than Mr.--Mr.----?"

"My name's Jerry Sheming, Miss," said the youth. "Don't you worry about
me."