Bounding the turn just at his back swept a big scarlet touring-car driven by a solitary man. It was coming at tremendous speed and no horn had given warning of its noiseless approach. Van had but an instant to step out of its path when on it shot, bearing down on the unconscious boy ahead. The little chap was walking in the middle of the road and whistling so loudly that no hint of the oncoming danger reached him. The man in the motor saw the child and sounding his horn, swerved to the left; but it was too late. The speeding car caught the lad, struck him, and tossed him to the roadside rushing on in its mad flight faster, if anything, than before. In vain did Van call after it. His protest was useless. The great red vehicle whirled forward, a speck in the sunshine, and was lost to view. Terror-stricken Van darted to the child's side and bent over him. His eyes were closed and an ugly gash in his forehead was bleeding profusely. [Illustration: NO HORN HAD GIVEN WARNING] Binding a handkerchief round the little fellow's head the older boy lifted him in his arms and retracing his steps ran with him down the road, across the Sawyer lawn, and up the steps of the Colversham infirmary. A young orderly who was lounging at the door came forward and on seeing the child's face spoke quickly to a physician who was passing through the hall. Together they took the little boy from Van's arms and carried him to a cot in an adjoining room, anxiously plying Van with questions as they went. Briefly Van related the story. "Such men should be hung! Prison is too good for them!" snapped the doctor angrily. He passed his hand with infinite tenderness over the tiny, still form on the bed. "Is he much hurt, sir?" questioned Van eagerly. "I can't tell yet. He is hurt enough so that he doesn't come to his senses, poor little chap! Here, Jackson, ring for a couple of nurses. We'll get the child up-stairs." Van tagged behind them more because he was anxious to hear of the lad's condition than because he could be of any real use. As the sad procession left the elevator, emerging into the corridor on the second floor, a tall man who was coming down the stairway confronted them. It was Dr. Maitland, the principal of the school! "What's this?" he asked, advancing with swift stride. The doctor hurriedly explained the circumstances. "A motor accident on the Claybrook Road, you say? Well, well! Poor little chap! Who brought him in?" "This lad--one of the schoolboys. You showed good judgment, Blake, and it was a mighty fortunate thing that you were there," observed the surgeon, passing on. "The Claybrook Road?" repeated the puzzled principal. "You were on the Claybrook Road, Blake? And what were you doing there at this time of day?" With throbbing heart Van suddenly came to himself. Up to that instant no thought of his own peculiar plight had crossed his mind. Now the reality of his dilemma rushed upon him with pitiless force.