_wanted_, as Arnold of Sewa might have said if he had been there,
was a few moments' complete rest. Leuthold's helmet had been hammered
with sticks until it was over his eyes and all out of shape, and
Friesshardt's was very little better. And they both felt just as if
they had been run over in the street by a horse and cart.

"Tell!" shouted the crowd. "Hurrah for Tell! Good old Tell!"

"Tell's the boy!" roared Ulric the smith. "Not another man in
Switzerland could have made that shot."

"No," shrieked everybody, "not another!"

"Speech!" cried someone from the edge of the crowd.

"Speech! Speech! Tell, speech!" Everybody took up the cry.

"No, no," said Tell, blushing.

"Go on, go on!" shouted the crowd.

"Oh, I couldn't," said Tell; "I don't know what to say."

"Anything will do. Speech! Speech!"

Ulric the smith and Ruodi the fisherman hoisted Tell on to their
shoulders, and, having coughed once or twice, he said:

"Gentlemen--"