"Hear him! hear him!" screamed the astronomer, then calling to the people on the streets: "Come near-artist, come near-actor, come near everybody, we have in our midst one who would expose us to the people who really do things."
With fearful cries the entire population made one dash for Billy, who, forgetting that all he had to do was to jump, tried to run. In his big suit he found this almost impossible and soon he was surrounded by an excited mob.
"Roast him at the steak," cried the butcher, still holding in his hands the papier mache chicken he had been selling when the call came.
"Splendid," said, the near poet.
"Boil him in oil," suggested the near artist.
"What is it, forgery?" asked the blacksmith.
"Put him in a cell," said the merchant.
Billy saw that he was in a tight place and must act quickly. No one had as yet taken hold of him, they were all too excited to think of that; but he knew a near policeman was even then trying to edge through the crowd and something must be done. Just then the near astronomer put out a hand to seize Billy's collar—quick as a wink Billy reached up and pushed the star gazer's plug hat right down over his eyes.
"You can't see stars this time at any rate," said Billy, and then was surprised to find himself rising, rising, rising off of the ground.
In hitting he had jumped up to reach the star gazer's hat and of course up he went.