During a two hours' siege with the
military man he had never lost his temper or his wits, and had come off
the victor.
When Bart had concluded his very creditable piece of business with Mr.
Martin of the pickle factory, he had sent Darry and Bob Haven back to
bed, and had forthwith returned to the express office.
Colonel Harrington, scared-looking and sullen, was still there. He
seemed to have met his match in the young express agent, and dared not
defy him.
Bart found McCarthy, the night watchman, on guard outside, who told him
that they had got Lem Wacker clear of the bumpers, had carried him into
the express office, made up a rude litter, and had sent for a surgeon.
The latter had just concluded his labors as Bart entered. Lem Wacker lay
with his foot bandaged up, conscious, and in no intense pain, for the
surgeon had given him some deadening medicine.
"He belongs at the hospital," the surgeon advised Bart. "That foot will
have to come off."
"As bad as that!" murmured Bart.
"Yes. I will telephone for the ambulance when I leave here."
"Very well," acquiesced Bart. "Can I speak with the patient?"
"If he will speak with you.
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