james h. foster

CHAPTER I
The Chinaman

BANG! Crash!
“What was that?” Joe Lewis had turned suddenly, every nerve on edge. His eyes tried to penetrate the darkness of the San Francisco night.
“Sounded like an automobile accident,” came from Bob Holton. “Come on. Let’s go around and see.”
The two chums dashed across the street and around the corner, hoping that nothing tragic had taken place. They passed several people who were hurrying to investigate the strange noise.
Reaching the thoroughfare, the youths drew back with cries of alarm, for the sight before them was fearful and unpleasant.
Lying on its top, wheels in the air, was a small automobile, which had evidently crashed into a pole near by. All about was broken glass, and water
 was still oozing from the radiator. The pole was dented severely, indicating that the car had probably been traveling rapidly.
As Bob and Joe looked on spellbound, a smothered cry for help came from the automobile. It was repeated several times in rapid succession.
With throbbing hearts, the boys ran over to the wreck, followed by several other people. In the darkness they could not see clearly inside the car and could only guess who was calling for help. A near-by street lamp, although bright did not illuminate the automobile sufficiently.
“Let’s get this door open,” muttered Bob. “Hurry. There isn’t any time to lose.”
Working feverishly, the chums reached through the broken window and tugged at the door. It had been wrenched severely and refused to open. What made the task still more difficult was the fact that broken edges of glass projected from the sides of the window.
With a mighty effort, the youths managed to pull the door open, although they almost lost their balance from the sudden impact. But now they were greatly relieved. They had had an uneasy feeling that perhaps the door would not yield.
Without hesitation Bob reached into the car, caught hold of someone, and pulled him out. Then, after making sure that no one else was in the car, he turned to the stranger.
The youths were a bit surprised to see that he was a Chinaman, a short, fat man of middle age. From all appearances he had not been injured in the accident. There was but one little scratch in the side of his face.
“You do velly well—get me out queek,” he said to Bob gratefully. “I was fear I have to stay in machine long tlime.”
“What was the trouble?” asked Joe, edging closer to the overturned automobile as the crowd of spectators grew larger. “Did a wheel come off or something?”
The little Chinaman laughed sheepishly.
“Nothing like that,” he said. “My machine here it was velly new, and I was not good enough dliver. It run loose and clash into this pole. Then it turn over.”
“It was just luck that you weren’t hurt,” said Bob grimly. “Not many could have been in a smash-up like that and come out unharmed.”
At this moment a policeman stepped up to obtain the man’s name and address and the details concerning the crash. While the Chinaman talked, the officer wrote in a small notebook, on which he turned a flashlight.