A WORD TO THE WISE

“I ain’t no doctor, Tom Naby, but you got a concussion of the brain. Maybe even a little fracture of the skull. Whatever it is, you need good attention and you can’t git that this side of Moorestown. I been a thinkin’. Branch line train—won’t be more’n two, three people on it—leaves in two hours. That’ll give me time, and you can hold out that long. Just do what I tell you now and you won’t get hurt no worse’n you are. And you’ll git the best hospital care—free! Besides, you’ll collect a couple of hundred dollars—which you’n me’ll split.” Farmer Amos Sneed was right proud of himself.

* * * *

Professor Fordney was almost thrown from his seat as the speeding train emergency-braked to a sudden, jolting stop. He was quite thoroughly shaken up. He looked back from his front seat to see if the grimy coach’s only other passenger, whom he’d seen standing near the rear a moment before, was all right. He wasn’t. Hurrying to the back of the coach, the Professor found the man sprawled on his back, apparently unconscious.

“Is he hurt much?” the anxious conductor asked a few minutes later.

“Difficult to say,” Fordney replied. “He’ll have to get to a hospital as quickly as possible though. What happened?”

“Hit a cow—bad light—just getting dusk. Our third accident in two months. We’ll catch it from headquarters when this man puts in his claim—if he lives.”

“Dusk…dusk,” Fordney repeated. “Quite. You needn’t worry about this man’s claim,” he assured the conductor. “He won’t make one—not if he is wise.”

Why did Fordney say so? Turn page for solution.