Thus it happened that close behind the dray conveying the petrol came a long procession, the sound of whose coming announced it from afar.

“’Tis the way of us in Toronto,” said McMurtrie soothingly, when Smith vented his annoyance.

The crowd invaded the club-grounds, to the horror of the green-keepers, and rolled past the club-house to the aeroplane, where Rodier, having finished cleaning, was regaling himself with an excellent repast sent out to him by Mr. McMurtrie.  Cheers for Lieutenant Smith arose; Rodier smiled and bowed, not ceasing to ply his knife and fork until a daring youth put his foot upon the aeroplane.  Then Rodier dropped knife and fork, and rushed like a cat at the intruder.  The Frenchiness of his language apprised the spectators that they were on the wrong scent, and they demanded to know where Lieutenant Smith was.  Knowing Smith’s dislike of demonstrations, Rodier was about to point lugubriously to the edge of the cliff, when some one shouted “Here he is!” and the mob flocked towards the club-house, from which Smith had just emerged.  Rodier seized the opportunity to finish his meal, and direct the operations of the men who had brought the petrol.

Smith had not found himself in so large a crowd of English-speaking people since he had left London.  The early morning enthusiasm of the San Francisco journalists was hard to bear, but the afternoon enthusiasm of Toronto was terrible.  Hundreds of young fellows wanted to hoist him to their shoulders; dozens of opulent citizens perspired to carry him to the city in their cars; some very young ladies panted to kiss him; and a score of journalists buzzed about him, but upon them McMurtrie smiled with a look of conscious superiority.  Smith whispered to him.  The editor nodded.

“Gentlemen!” he shouted, holding up his hand.

“Silence!...  Hear, hear!...  S-s-sh!...  Don’t make such a row!...  Same to you!...  Let’s hear what Jack McMurtrie has got to say.”

Thus the babel was roared down.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said McMurtrie; “Mr. Smith—­”

“Three cheers for Smith!” shouted some one; horns blurted; from the edge of the crowd the first notes of “For he’s a jolly good fellow” were heard, and they sang it through twice, so that those who had missed the beginning should not be hurt in their feelings.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began McMurtrie again, when he could make his voice heard, “Mr. Smith, who is rather hoarse from constant exposure to the night air, asks me to thank you for the warmth of your reception.  He has been good enough to give me full particulars of his wonderful journey, which you will find in the final edition of the Sphere.  As I’ve no doubt at all that you are anxious to have the chance of seeing Mr. Smith performing the evolutions which up to this time have been witnessed by next to nobody but the stars and the flying fishes, he has consented, at my request, to give a demonstration, provided that you’ll allow him a clear run, and don’t be accessory to your own manslaughter.”