“Which way?” said he.

“Right up-stairs:  the first door at the head of the stairs, on the third floor.  I think you had better take her up in the elevator, because—­”

“Cert’nly, cert’nly,” he said, interrupting Mrs. Tarbell, who had intended to be as brief and business-like as possible.

Mrs. Tarbell followed the procession into the elevator, and when they arrived on the third floor, John, the office-boy, had already opened the door, scenting an excitement afar off with curious nostril, as it were; and Mrs. Stiles was duly carried in and laid on the sofa.  “John, get some water instantly,” cried Mrs. Tarbell.  And at the same moment a red-cheeked young man bustled into the room and said that he was a doctor.

He pushed everybody out of the way, darted to the sofa, took off his hat.  “Heard there was an accident, and if my services—­unless there is another practitioner—­thank you, sir, you are doing the very best thing possible; and now let us see whether there is a fracture,” he said.

The promptitude and directness with which this young gentleman went to work commanded the attention and admiration of all the spectators.  He asked for water, he called for salts of ammonia, he ran his hands lightly over Mrs. Stiles’s prostrate form, all in an instant; then he asked how the accident had happened.

“She tried to get on while the car was going,” growled the conductor, who had accompanied the party up-stairs.

“I’ll bet she didn’t,” observed the party with the red moustache.

“Ankle, probably,” murmured the doctor to himself.  “Possibly a rib also.”  And in a minute or two he was able to declare that the injury had been done to the lady’s ankle, the lady herself having assisted him to this conclusion by coming to her senses, groaning, and putting her hand down to the suffering joint.

The conductor frowned.  “What is the lady’s name and address, please, ma’am?” he asked of Mrs. Tarbell.  “I have to make a report of the accident.”

“You’ll find it out soon enough,” said a thin man with a fresh complexion, very silvery hair, and spectacles.  “The company will not have to wait long for the information.”  He looked about with a cheerful smile, and the conductor glared at him contemptuously. “She never tried to get on while you were going,” continued the thin man.  “It was your driver; that’s what it was.”

“The lady’s name is Stiles, conductor,” said Mrs. Tarbell,—­“Stiles; and she lives—­dear me!—­on Pulaski Street.  Can I do anything for you, doctor?”

“You might send your boy for a carriage,” said the doctor, who was engaged in removing Mrs. Stiles’s shoe.  “Nothing else, thank you, unless you happen to have some lead-water about you.”  He gave a professional smile, and Mrs. Stiles groaned dismally.

Mrs. Tarbell despatched John for the carriage, and then, turning, and blushing in a way that was rather out of keeping with her tone of voice, she said, “Now, I should be obliged if you gentlemen who saw the accident would furnish me with your names and addresses.”