But he reached the spot too late. The great bust came crashing from its height full upon Chilly's breast, and with a choked cry he went down beneath it.
The others rushed to him and between them the massive stone was lifted from the broken body. "Call up a doctor," Harry ordered the steward. "Get the nearest—tell him to hurry; Mr. Allen is badly hurt." To the rest he said, "Nothing must be known, as to how this happened, outside this room. It was an accident, remember, nothing more. The shelf was weak and the bust fell."
When the doctor came in, the crushed form lay upon a couch hastily improvised from chair-cushions. Blood was welling from the pale lips. He made a hasty examination, then looked up and shook his head.
"Better fetch his father and mother," he said, "and as quickly as possible."
"I will go," volunteered Brent. "My car is at the theatre. I can do it in twenty minutes." He went out quickly, while the man of medicine opened his case and busied himself with restoratives.
To Harry, who stood watching with the others, it seemed that these were to be of no avail, but after a sensible interval Chilly opened his eyes. He gazed at the professional face so near—at the other shocked countenances grouped about. He saw the bust lying on its side.
"I'm—sober now," he gasped. "I was—seeing things, eh? But I seem to be—hurt. What's the matter?"
"The marble fell and struck you," said Harry.
A spasm of pain caught Chilly and he groaned. "I remember," he said, and then, after a pause, "Am I—badly off?"
"I'm afraid so," said the doctor.