Had it been a friend who was thus in need of succor, they could hardly
have shown more energy in attending to his wants.
"He's coming to," said Bluff after Frank had sprinkled the scratched
face with some of the cold water.
There was a deep sigh, then Frank saw that the fellow's eyes had opened,
and were surveying him with a troubled stare.
"Feeling better, Hank?" he asked quietly.
"Oh, I'm all right, I reckon. What brought you fellows here? Where am
I, anyhow? Did I just drop off that motorcycle? No. I remember, now.
Flimsy took the last cent I had while I lay in the road. The meanest
skunk I ever met up with. If ever he crosses my path again I'll get even
with the cur," he growled, sitting up and holding a hand to his head.
"What happened to you, Hank? Why were you lying in the road? Did you
have a fight with that tramp printer?" asked Frank, suspecting the
truth.
"Yes. I told him I was sick of keeping with him. He's a bad one, and
some fine day he'll land in the stone jug. He scared me the way he
talked. I started to tramp back home, and he kept nagging me all the way
here.
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