“What?” cried the deacon.
“I couldn’t help it,” said Joe, in self-defense. “I had to save that man. It was the only way.”
Then Joe told briefly and modestly what he had done. He did not bring out his true worth in the matter of the rescue, and he hardly made it plain that, had it not been for his soaking wet suit, Professor Rosello might have been fatally burned.
“Professor Rosello?” queried Mr. Blackford. “Is he a school teacher, Joe?”
“No, sir, he’s a professor of magic.”
“Magic! You mean one of those worthless characters who go about giving silly exhibitions, like the one that was here last night?”
“Yes, he was the one I saved,” Joe answered. “I’m sorry about my suit, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“The idea!” cried Mrs. Blackford.
Mr. Blackford looked stern.
“A low, public performer!” he murmured. “Was there no one else to save him—no one who is paid to do such things—firemen with suits that would not easily burn? Could not one of them save him?”