He reached forth and drew the latter toward him. It was his own, and its hands indicated twenty after six. His gaze roamed about the room and fell upon a pair of canvas rowing shoes. Then memory returned, and he sank back upon the pillow with a groan, closing his eyes and moving his head restlessly from side to side as his thoughts went back over the day’s events. He remembered the awful period in the boat; it seemed now as he looked back upon it as though it must have been hours and hours, though he knew that from the time of starting until he had plunged into the river but five or six minutes could have elapsed; he remembered a world of green, silent water about him, a brief glare of blue sky and flashing sunlight, many faces bending above him, and then, but very indistinctly, a man with gray mustaches who raised him up and made him swallow something. He was rather tired and listless now, but his headache was gone and his fever had passed away, and--yes, he felt pretty well. Perhaps he had best get up and dress himself; it would soon be time to return to Hillton. If only some one would come and tell him. But of course no one cared much about him now; how could they? It was natural that he should be left alone, he who had lost the race for Hillton. He sighed and clenched his hands above the white spread. What must they think of him? His cheeks reddened at the thought of facing Dick and Kirk and all the others. Of course, Dick would make light of it, and he was sure that Kirk would carefully abstain from saying anything to hurt his feelings; and perhaps the other fellows would be very decent about it. But in their hearts they must hate him; it was only natural. He was glad that the school year was almost over; perhaps next year it would be partly forgotten; perhaps he needn’t return to Hillton at all! Suddenly, from a little distance, came a sound of noisy laughter. He frowned. How could any one laugh, he wondered indignantly. The thought came to him that maybe some one down there had spoken his name, and he felt his face burning hotly with shame. He turned over and laid his head on his arm and closed his eyes wearily. He wished Muggins was there. It was very still again. A long tremor shook him and he felt a tiny scorching tear roll down his cheek. He brushed it away quickly, but another took its place, and still another, and presently, while the sunlight moved from the western window, he fell asleep again. When next he woke the room was in twilight darkness, although the curtain had been rolled away from the open window. There were two figures by the little table, and he heard low voices: “Is he awake?” “I guess not. It’s time for his medicine, isn’t it?” “Yes, shall I wake him?” “I don’t know. Let’s wait a minute or two.”