your horse and wagon, Captain? We can never carry him to our
house without something like that. Where's the wagon?"

"Bob jest got back from delivering clams in it. I'll go clean it
out--the hoss is hitched to it yet, an'----"

"Don't bother to clean it!" interrupted Andy. "Just put some sail
cloth in the bottom. It doesn't matter if it's dirty. Every second
counts now. Get the wagon."

"Right away!" cried the old sailor, who did a general clamming and fish
business. He hurried off in the direction of his store and stable,
impressed by the words and energetic actions of the Racer boys. "Hi
there, Bob!" the captain called to his son, whom he saw approaching.
"Bring Dolly an' the rig here as quick as you can! Frank an' Andy
Racer went out an' brought back a dead motor boat--leastways I mean a
fellow that was nearly killed in one. Bring up the rig jest as she is!
Lively!"

"Aye, aye!" answered Bob, seaman fashion.

A minute later a nondescript vehicle, drawn by a big but bony horse
rattled up, driven by the captain's son.

"What's up?" asked Bob Trent of the lads, with whom he was quite
friendly. "Who is he?"

"That's what we'd like to know," spoke Frank. "We may find out if he
doesn't die. We've no time to spare."

They lifted the unconscious form into the wagon, on the bottom of which
had been spread a number of old sails.

"I'll drive," said Bob briefly. "I can get more out of Dolly than most
folks. You've got to do your best now, old girl," he called to the
horse. The animal pricked up her ears.

"I'll ride in back and hold his head," volunteered Frank. "Andy, you
go telephone for Dr. Martin. Tell him to get to our house as soon as
possible--explain why. Have him there by the time we arrive, if
possible."

"Right!" cried Andy sharply, and he raced off toward the nearest
telephone, there being a few of the instruments in Harbor View.

"Wa'll, I'll be jib-boomed!" exclaimed Captain Trent, as his son drove
off, the horse making good time. "Them Racer boys is allers up to
suthin' or other."

Bob spoke the truth when he said he could do better with Dolly than
most drivers, for the steed started out at a fast pace, and kept it up
until the rickety vehicle turned into the drive that led to the
handsome cottage owned by Mr. Racer. Mrs. Racer hurried to the door as
she heard the sound of wheels, and at the sight of Frank sitting in the
wagon, holding the head of another lad in his lap, Mrs