Oscar presently found Mr. Hynes and his party, who were gathered about the third group, listening to President Potter, who, with his eyes half closed and his hands waving gently in the air, was giving a little lecture on the habits of the animals, and describing in glowing language the fierce battle which Oscar had once witnessed between a flock of bighorns and a pack of gray wolves.
He left his mother with them and strolled off by himself. Of course he was proud of his success. He felt a thrill of pleasure whenever he heard an exclamation of astonishment or delight from any of the guests, and could scarcely repress a smile when his ear caught a little scream, uttered by some timid lady, who, when about to explore some of the numerous nooks and alcoves that were constantly presenting themselves in the most unexpected places, found her progress disputed by some threatening animal.
When Sam Hynes found him he was standing in a remote corner, watching the crowd before him, and acting altogether like a disinterested spectator.
"What are you doing here, Oscar?" demanded Sam, seizing him by the arm. "Come out of that!"
"No, you don't!" replied Oscar. "Let go and clear out yourself."
"Can't think of it—can't possibly think of it," said Sam resolutely. "I was sent to bring you, and I am going to do it. There are a lot of people here who want to see you."
"Why can't they look at the specimens and let me alone?" said Oscar.
"They have seen all the stuffed specimens, and now they want to see an animated one," answered Sam. "You belong to the museum, you know. Didn't I tell you long ago that they would make a lion of you? I'd show a little more pluck if I were in your place. Come on, I tell you!"
Oscar was not the only brave boy who has hesitated to face a battery of bright eyes; but he was forced to go with Sam in order to avoid a "scene," for the latter clung to his arm with a firm grip.
He mingled with the guests, and although he blushed and stammered a little at first, he gained confidence when he heard the sound of his own voice, and in a few minutes he was talking glibly and sometimes eloquently of his winter in the foot-hills.