"You get hurt or something?" the boy asked as Wilbur came toward him. Wilbur rubbed his head.
"I'm all right," Wilbur told him. He said it partly to reassure himself.
He looked at his wrist watch and found he had only twenty minutes to get back to work. That was puzzling. There was a lapse of time. Being a man of imagination, Wilbur reflected that if he had actually been in the past he would not have used up any time in the present.
On the other hand, it was more probable that he had been hit on the head by falling plaster and had incurred a slight lapse of consciousness, memory, or both. He was inclined to accept that explanation.
At any rate he was going to be late if he didn't hurry, and Pete Bellows would be mad as a hornet. Wilbur speeded up his pace. Then he slowed down again. If anyone should be angry it was himself. He had missed his lunch.
Riding up in the elevator Wilbur checked his watch again and found he was only five minutes late. In his working life that represented two lines of doggerel. It didn't seem like much to get excited about. But Pete Bellows didn't see it that way.
"Mook!" he roared, as Wilbur came through the door. "You're late!"
If he had expected Wilbur to fall into his usual fit of trembling he was disappointed. Wilbur was staring at him.
"Your eye!" Wilbur gasped. Pete's left eye was swollen half shut and had a blue ring around it.
"He walked into the door," Miss Burnett said. "Honest."