Chance Carter, lying helpless on the stone steps of Turner Hall, was
wondering if the doctor would ever come. Bob and George did their best
to ease his pain, while Betty gazed anxiously down the street.
"Why doesn't that doctor come?"
"Surely he knows where we are, Betty?"
"Yes, I told him Turner Hall, and he said, 'Why, Turner Hall burned down
last night, little girl.' And I told him I knew it, and that we were
waiting right beside what was left of it."
"Hm-m-m! Something must have happened to him then; he could have walked
it in less time than this. If he doesn't come pretty soon, we'd better
call up the police department and have them send the ambulance. We can't
wait here much longer."
While they waited, an idea popped into Bob's head.
"Look here," he said, "somebody else is likely enough to get hurt here,
just the way Chance did. I believe we'd better put up a sign. I'll get
some paper from that store."
So Bob hurried around to the store and got some wrapping paper and nails
and borrowed a pencil and hammer. He worked fast, the shopkeeper looking
curiously over his shoulder while he lettered this sign: