To his surprise his father was not there. Bart approached the druggist
to ask an anxious question when the companion of the latter, a
professional-looking man, spoke up.

"You are young Stirling, are you not?" he interrogated.

"Yes, sir," nodded Bart.

"Don't get frightened or worried, but I am Doctor Davis. We thought it
best to send your father to the hospital."

"To the hospital!" echoed Bart turning pale. "Then he is badly
injured--"

"Not at all," dissented the physician reassuringly. "He was probably
overcome by the smoke or fell and was stunned, but that injury was
trifling. It is his eyes we are troubled about."

"Tell me the worst!" pleaded Bart in a choked tone, but trying to
prepare himself for the shock.

"Why, one eye is pretty bad," said the doctor, "and the other got the
full force of some powder explosion. They have good people up at the
hospital, though, and they will soon get him to rights."

"I must tell my mother at once," murmured Bart.

He left the place with a heart as heavy as lead. It seemed as if one
furious Fourth of July powder blast had disrupted the very foundations