"Tom, you're drunk," he announced coldly. "When you are sober you'll kick yourself for the thought. Go and lie down awhile. I won't talk with you while you're in this condition."
"Drunk?" gasped Braddock. "Bob, so help me, I'm not drunk," he almost whined.
"Then you must be crazy," observed the other, walking away.
David saw an opportunity to escape the company of both. He was edging away when Braddock stopped him.
"Say, you! I want to give you a bit of advice. If you go to putting high-sounding notions in Christie's head, I'll break every bone in your body. If you don't like the way she dresses in the ring, why do you look at her all the time?"
Further utterance on his part, or any effort David may have contemplated in resenting his attack, was prevented by the appearance of Ruby Noakes, who came running up from the main-top, waving a newspaper in her hand and crying out in the wildest excitement:
"David! David! Have you heard? Have you seen it? We've been looking for you everywhere. Here! Look! It's to-day's Enquirer! See what's happened! Your uncle!"
The vanguard of the "parade" had reached the lot. Cages came creaking through the wide aperture at the end, and were wheeled skillfully into place by expert drivers. Gayly dressed horsemen trotted through. Every one was shouting to David.
His ears rang, everything went black before him. He could not seize the paper that Ruby held before his eyes, nor were his eyes quite capable of reading the sharp, characteristic headlines that stood out before him in the first column of the Enquirer. The letters danced impishly, as if to confuse him further. Jenison—Jenison—Jenison everywhere! That was all he could see, all he could grasp.
Dick Cronk's prophecy had been fulfilled.