Selma and Jane and Mrs. Colman
were in the room. The others--a steadily increasing crowd--were
on the steps outside, in the front yard, were filling the narrow
street. Colman had organized fifty Leaguers into a guard, to be
ready for any emergencies. Over the tops of the low houses could
be seen the vast cloud of smoke from the fire; the air was heavy
with the odors of burning wood; faintly came sounds of engines,
of jubilant drunken shouts.
``A fracture of the skull and of the jaw-bone. Not necessarily
serious,'' was Dr. Charlton's verdict.
The young man, unconscious, ghastly pale, with his thick hair
mussed about his brow and on the right side clotted with blood,
lay breathing heavily. Ellen Clearwater came in and Mrs. Colman
whispered to her the doctor's cheering statement. She went to
Jane and said in an undertone:
``We can go now, Jane. Come on.''
Jane seemed not to hear. She was regarding the face of the young
man on the couch.
Ellen touched her arm. ``We're intruding on these people,'' she
whispered. ``Let's go. We've done all we can.''
Selma did not hear, but she saw and understood.
``Yes--you'd better go, Jane,'' she said. ``Mrs. Colman and I
will do everything that's necessary.''
Jane did not heed. She advanced a step nearer the couch. ``You
are sure, doctor?'' she said, and her voice sounded unnatural.
``Yes, miss----'' He glanced at her face. ``Yes, Miss Hastings.
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