When he opened his eyes again, a minute later, he was lying, weak, shaken, and gasping, just inside the fence, his swimming head supported on the knee of Professor White. About him excited yet kindly faces looked down, while on the sidewalk the trembling horses were being unharnessed from the carriage. He strove to sit up, but the professor restrained him.

“Hurt, Weatherby?” he asked.

Jack stretched himself carefully, shook his head, and struggled into a sitting posture.

“No,” he gasped, “all right; breath – knocked out – that’s all.”

“Well, sit still a minute.” Jack obeyed, and closed his eyes. About him were low voices and whispers, and his name being repeated over and over. Then he became aware of a sudden commotion, and opened his eyes to see Anthony pushing his way through the ring.

“I found him,” he gasped. “He’s coming right over. How is he?” He dropped to his knees at Jack’s side, sending an anxious glance at the professor.

“Nothing broken; just out of breath.”

Anthony seized Jack’s hand and held it tightly, his broad mouth working yet unable to voice his words. Jack grinned up into his face.

“You’re a sight, Anthony,” he said. “You’ve gone and lost your specs. Help me up.” The professor nodded. Anthony seized him about the shoulders and lifted him to his feet. Jack tried his legs tentatively, and found them apparently sound. Then he turned to Anthony.

“Showell?” he asked anxiously.

“He’s all right, Jack; just stunned a bit from the fall.”

“Take him over to his room, Tidball,” said Professor White. “I’ll send the doctor when he comes.”

The throng made way for them. As they passed through, Anthony supporting Jack as carefully as though the latter were a basket of eggs, the crowd found its voice. Jack glanced into some of the faces and read therein a new respect and liking. He dropped his eyes, the color flooding into his cheeks, and hurried on. The throng grew momentarily. In front it broke and parted, and Joe Perkins and Tracy Gilberth confronted them.

“All right, Jack?” panted Joe.

“Of course I am,” Jack muttered sheepishly.

“All right, then. Up you go, old man!” Before he could resist he found himself on the shoulders of Anthony and Joe, with Tracy supporting him behind.

“Let me down, you idiots!” he pleaded.

But they paid no heed. The individual voicing of approval suddenly merged into a confused cheering that grew and grew in volume until Jack’s remonstrances were drowned beneath it. He clung to Anthony’s head, and tried to look as though he didn’t mind, and only succeeded in looking like a thief on the way to the stocks. Of late, he silently marveled, he seemed to be continually swaying about on fellows’ shoulders!

Near the museum the chaos of sound took form and substance, and Jack, still somewhat confused and dizzy, found that he was bobbing along in time to the loud, deep, and measured refrain of “Weatherby! Weatherby! Weatherby!”