Joe the Hotel Boy; Or, Winning out by Pluck, Pluck by Jr. Horatio Alger [ereader android txt] 📗

“This is too bad, Uncle Hiram!” he said, in a trembling voice. “I'll get you out just as soon as I can.”

“Be—be careful, Joe—I—I—my ribs must be broken,” gasped the hermit.

“I'll be careful,” answered the boy, and began to pull aside one board after another. Then he tugged away at the beam but could not budge it.

“Raise it up Joe—it—is—crushing the life ou—out of me,” said the hermit faintly.

“I'll pry it up,” answered the boy, and ran off to get a block of wood. Then he procured a stout pole and with this raised the heavy beam several inches.

“Can you crawl out, Uncle Hiram?”

There was no answer, and Joe saw that the man had fainted from exhaustion. Fixing the pole so it could not slip, he caught hold of the hermit and dragged him to a place of safety.

Joe had never had to care for a hurt person before and he scarcely knew how to proceed. He laid the hermit on the grass and washed his face with water. Soon Hiram Bodley opened his eyes once more.

“My chest!” he groaned. “All of my ribs must be broken! And my ankle is broken, too!” And he groaned again.

“I had better get a doctor, Uncle Hiram.”

“A doctor can't help me.”

“Perhaps he can.”

“I haven't any faith in doctors. A doctor operated on my mother and killed her.”

“But Doctor Gardner is a nice man. He will do all he can for you, I am sure,” urged Joe.

“Well, Dr. Gardner is a good fellow I admit. If you—can—can get him—I'll—I'll—” The sufferer tried to go on but could not.

“I think I can get him. But I hate to leave you alone.” And Joe stared around helplessly. He wished he had Ned with him.

“Never mind—give me a drink—then go,” answered Hiram Bodley. He had often taken Doctor Gardner out to hunt with him and liked the physician not a little.

Inside of five minutes Joe was on the way to the doctor's residence, which was on the outskirts of Riverside. He had left the hermit as comfortable as possible, on a mattress and covered with a cloth to keep off the night air,—for it was now growing late and the sun had set behind the mountains.

Tired though he was the boy pulled with might and main, and so reached the dock of the physician's home in a short space of time. Running up the walk of the neatly-kept garden, he mounted the piazza and rang the bell several times.

“What's the matter?” asked Doctor Gardner, who came himself to answer the summons.

“Our cabin is in ruins, because of the storm, and Mr. Bodley is badly hurt,” answered Joe, and related some of the particulars.

“This is certainly too bad, my boy,” said the physician. “I'll come at once and do what I can for him.”

He ran for a case of instruments and also for some medicines, and then followed Joe back to the boat.

“You act as if you were tired,” said the doctor, after he had watched Joe at the oars for several minutes.

“I am tired, sir—I've been rowing a good deal to-day. But I guess I can make it.”

“Let me row,” said the physician, and took the oars. He was a fine oarsman, and the trip was made in half the time it would have taken Joe to cover the distance.

At the dock there was a lantern, used by Joe and the hermit when they went fishing at night. This was lit, and the two hurried up the trail to the wreck of the cabin.

Hiram Bodley was resting where Joe had left him. He was breathing with difficulty and did not at first recognize the doctor.

“Take it off!” he murmured. “Take it off! It is—is crushing th—the life out of—of me!”

“Mr. Bodley—Hiram, don't you know me?” asked Doctor Gardner, kindly.

“Oh! So it's you? I guess you can't do much, doctor, can you? I—I'm done for!” And a spasm of pain crossed the sufferer's face.

“While there is life there is hope,” answered the physician, noncommittally. He recognized at once that Hiram Bodley's condition was critical.

“He'll get over it, won't he?” questioned Joe, quickly.

The doctor did not answer, but turned to do what he could for the hurt man. He felt of his chest and listened to his breathing, and then administered some medicine.

“His ankle is hurt, too,” said Joe.

“Never mind the ankle just now, Joe,” was the soft answer.

There was something in the tone that alarmed the boy and he caught the physician by the arm.

“Doctor, tell me the truth!” he cried. “Is he is he going to die?”

“I am afraid so, my lad. His ribs are crushed and one of them has stuck into his right lung.”

At these words the tears sprang into the boy's eyes and it was all he could do to keep from crying outright. Even though the old hermit had been rough in his ways, Joe thought a good deal of the man.

“Cannot you do something, doctor,” he pleaded.

“Not here. We might do something in a hospital, but he would not survive the journey. He is growing weaker every moment. Be brave, my lad. It is a terrible trial, I know, but you must remember that all things are for the best.”

Joe knelt beside the sufferer and took hold of his hand. Hiram Bodley looked at him and then at the doctor.

“I—I can't live—I know it,” he said hoarsely. “Joe, stay by me till I die, won't you?”

“Yes!” faltered the boy. “Oh, this is awful!”

“I'm sorry to leave you so soon, Joe—I—I thought I'd be—be able to do something for you some day.”

“You have done something for me, Uncle Hiram.”

“All I've got goes to you, Joe. Doctor, do you hear that?”

“I do.”

“It—it ain't much, but it's something. The blue box—I put it in the blue box—” Here the sufferer began to cough.

“The blue box?” came from Joe questioningly.

“Yes, Joe, all in the blue box—the papers and the