burning pillow. A part the wreck collapsed with a crash. In a
resolute to play a man's part in the tragedy going on around, I got
to my knees. Then I realized what had not noticed before: the hand
and wrist of the broken left arm were jammed through the handle of
the sealskin grip. I gasped and sat down suddenly.

"You must not do that," the girl insisted. I noticed now that she
kept her back to the wreck, her eyes averted. "The weight of the
traveling-bag must be agony. Let me support the valise until we get
back a few yards. Then you must lie down until we can get it cut
off."

"Will it have to be cut off?" I asked as calmly as possible. There
were red-hot stabs of agony clear to my neck, but we were moving
slowly away from the track.

"Yes," she replied, with dumfounding coolness. "If I had a knife I
could do it myself. You might sit here and lean against this fence."

By that time my returning faculties had realized that she was going
to cut off the satchel, not the arm. The dizziness was leaving and
I was gradually becoming myself.

"If you pull, it might come," I suggested. "And with that weight
gone, I think I will cease to be five feet eleven inches of baby."

She tried gently to loosen the handle, but it would not move, and
at last, with great drops of cold perspiration over me, I had to
give up.