I tried to move my arm, but it was powerless, and the exertion almost drove back my half-returning senses.
"Lie quiet," said a voice at my side, "the doctor will be here directly." The voice was somehow familiar; but in my weak state I could not remember where I had heard it.

And the exertion of turning my head to look was more than I could manage.
I lay there, I don't know how long, with half-closed eyes, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, and feeling only the pain and an occasional grateful passing of a wet sponge across my forehead.
Then I became aware of more people in the room and a man's voice saying-- "How was it ?" "I found him lying on the pavement.

I think he must have been thrown out of a vehicle." That voice I had certainly heard, but where?
"It's the arm--broken!" said the voice.
"Ah," said the doctor, leaning over me and touching me lightly near the elbow.
I groaned with agony as he did so.
"Go round to the other side," said he, hurriedly.

"I must examine where the fracture is.

I'm afraid, from what you say, it must be rather a bad one." I just remembered catching sight of a well-known face bending over me, and a familiar voice whispering-- "Steady, old man, try to bear it." The next moment I had fainted.
It may have been minutes or it may have been hours before I next came to myself, and then my arm lay bandaged by my side, and the sharpness of the pain had gone.
"Fred, old man," was the first thing I heard as I opened my eyes.