to avoid the flames," went on Dick. "I held my breath as long as I could, and then I hit something. I can't remember any more."
He sank into a doze, with Grit still licking the drooping hand.
"I think he will sleep now," said the physician who had examined Dick at the lake. "We will go out, and the dog had better come, too."
"Come, Grit," called Mr. Hamilton, but Grit paid no attention.
"I'll bring him," said the physician, as he reached for the bulldog's collar. Grit growled menacingly.
"Better not," advised the millionaire. "No one but Dick can do anything with him."
So they had to leave Grit there, but he was not in the least in the way, being content to rest beneath the bed, though whenever anyone—nurse or doctor—approached, the dog was ever on the watch.
Dick had to stay in bed three days, and for three days more was a sort of semi-invalid in an easy-chair. Then, the physicians having pronounced all danger past, he was allowed to go out. In the meantime the motor boat was raised and taken away to be repaired.
"Say, I never knew what nice sunshine and fine air we had in this town," said the youth to his father, as he walked down the street with him. "It's worth while being under the weather a bit just to appreciate it when you get out."
