“Kind of funny; I guess I’m sleepy; I guess I’ll go home.”
“You’re going in a minute; they’re bringing a carriage.”
Dick started up wildly, clutching at Kirk’s arm.
“Is—is anything wrong with me?” he whispered hoarsely. “Have I broken my leg, or—or anything?”
“No, certainly not. Only you’re rather weak, you know. We’re going to take you back in a carriage so you won’t have to walk.”
“Oh.” He sank back again. Then he whispered: “I can’t have anything the matter with me, you know, because there’s the crew, you see. We have to think of that.”
“Certainly,” answered Kirk very, very gravely, “there’s the crew. And here’s the carriage. And to prove to you that you’re all right I’ll let you walk over to it. Bear a hand, Nesbitt.”
Dick was raised to his feet, and to his great relief found that he could walk well enough, if a trifle unsteadily, and so reached the carriage and sank into the seat. Trevor took his place beside him, and Kirk sat by the driver, and they whirled away. Back of them the flames were still leaping heavenward, flooding the sky with a crimson radiance as they entered the academy gate.
“Are you all right?” whispered Trevor.
“Yes, I guess so; kind of tired. I was a silly chump to go and faint that way.”