"I think so," replied the Back, looking very white.
The Uncle took out his handkerchief, tore it in two, and dipping it in the cold waters of the brook, tied it tightly about his limb.
"Thank you, sir," said the Back, almost groaning, "I guess I can't walk just yet, I'll stay here till something comes along to take me in. The trouble is—the trouble is, I ought to be going on, I ought not to lose a moment."
"Humph!" said the Uncle. "You might better have thought of that before you fell."
"What time is it, if you please?" asked the Back anxiously.
"Twenty minutes of eleven," replied the Uncle.
"Oh, dear," sighed the Back, "only hard running would do it now. I left my sketch at home this morning, I took up another by mistake; it is to try for the prize sketch, and the Master said, if I would get it into the studio by eleven he would accept it, but he couldn't later, because the rule is, any coming after that hour can't compete. I've worked so hard at it, and I thought I had a good chance—oh, dear!"
"Let me see," considered the Uncle, turning to the Boy; "you stopped with yours this morning and we saw a number there. Yours was undoubtedly very good. Now open your portfolio and let me see yours," he added to the Back.
The Back hesitated, glanced at the Button Boy, then yielded.
"Humph!" observed the Uncle, and put on his glasses. "Well, I declare, whom have we here? 'The Arrogant Page'; eh? well, I declare; look at this, nephew—here you are with your buttons and your most scornful expression—disdaining to pick up the little Prince's hat! Where did you learn to draw like this, you rascal?"