"Smother time, perhaps," chirped Danny Griswold, who could not hold back the pun, for all of the gravity of the situation.
The rush had begun and ended so quickly that the faculty did not seem to be aroused. Some of the students were watching for the expected appearance of the professors, however.
Water was brought, and Mason's temples were bathed. He continued to breathe hoarsely for some time, plainly drawing his breath with the utmost difficulty, but the sound gradually lessened, and he finally struggled to sit up.
"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he growled, harshly. "Let me alone! Let me get up!"
Some one offered to help him.
"Get out!" he snarled, flinging the fellow off. "What do I want of help? What's the matter with my head? It is whirling."
He got up, although it was with the utmost difficulty he could do so, and there he stood in the midst of the crowd, swaying and putting his hands to his head.
Some could not believe their eyes. They had not thought it possible Hock Mason could betray weakness.
"Somebody struck me!" he harshly grated, glaring around. "Where is he? I'll wring his neck as if he were a chicken! Where is the fellow?"
All were silent.