The doctor's head was as that of a graven image.
"Why don't you do something?" Archibald demanded, giving expression to the unspoken entreaty of three hundred boys.
The surgeon paid no attention; he was listening for that murmur of life which would justify his doing anything.
"He is coming to," he muttered.
"He is coming to" passed from lip to lip. The school sighed with relief. The clouds above let fall a few drops of rain.
"A hurdle," commanded the surgeon, "and some coats!"
Billy was the first to pull off his overcoat. The surgeon touched Mark's body in a dozen places. Mark gasped and gurgled; then he tried to sit up—and succeeded.
"Back's all right," said the surgeon. "Keep quiet, my boy! You're a little the worse for wear. There, there, shut your eyes and believe that we shall hurt you as little as possible. Your arm is broken."
The news spread while the hurdle was being brought. Mark closed his eyes and lay back. The captain of Bashan's stepped forward.
"May I help to carry the hurdle?" he said.