Then the tube was removed from Jack’s mouth, and he was permitted to sit up. He looked down into the bucket at his feet and blinked. It was full of old tin cans, shoes, broken bottles, cigar stubs, bread, meat, and water!
“That was a frightful load for a man to carry on his stomach,” said Frank Merriwell, who had been looking on and enjoying this frolic.
“It was rather heavy,” murmured Jack Ready faintly; “but it’s not half the load you have on your soul.”
He was asked how he felt. Everybody seemed intensely solicitous about him now. Some of them placed their hands upon his head and declared that his temples were hot and throbbing. One tried to hold his wrist and count the beating of his pulse. Another offered to bring one of Doctor Bishop’s sermons and read it.
“I hope you are enjoying yourselves!” said Jack, with a great effort, for his mouth was still puckered and his throat tasted bitter as gall.
“He seems to be slightly demented, poor fellow!” sighed Roger Stone.
“But we saved his life,” said the master, “and therefore we should be happy and rejoice exceedingly.”
A whoop went up, and then round the chair on which the unlucky freshman sat those rollicking jokers danced wildly and grotesquely.
It was all over in a few moments, and the master rapped on the table, calling for them to return to the interrupted lunch. Jack was carefully placed in his former position at the table, and all the delicacies of the board were heaped up before him. The jokers resumed their feast, as if nothing had happened. They joked and laughed and ate and drank. Jack recovered and sat up. He was game. They were having fun at his expense, but he was not going to squeal.
“I’d like something to eat,” he thought, “but I’m hanged if I know what is fit to eat!”