hard."

Banneker's wrists were props of steel as he gripped the tossing head.
The old man took a turn with a bandage and fastened it.

"He'll die, anyway," he said, and lifted his face.

Banneker cackled like a silly girl at full sight of him. The spreading
whisker on the far side of his stern face was gayly pied in blotches of
red and green.

"Going to have hysterics?" demanded the old man, striking not so far
short of the truth.

"No," said the agent, mastering himself. "Hey! you, trainman," he called
to a hobbling, blue-coated fellow. "Bring two buckets of water from the
boiler-tap, hot and clean. Clean, mind you!" The man nodded and limped
away. "Anything else, Doctor?" asked the agent. "Got towels?"

"Yes. And I'm not a doctor--not for forty years. But I'm the nearest
thing to it in this shambles. Who are you?"

Banneker explained. "I'll be back in five minutes," he said and passed
into the subdued and tremulous crowd.

On the outskirts loitered a lank, idle young man clad beyond the glories
of Messrs. Sears-Roebuck's highest-colored imaginings.

"Hurt?" asked Banneker.