CHAPTER II
A MEETING WITH AN OLD FRIEND
The day of the excursion to Northampton was one of those clear morningswhen a light frost turned the maples to vermilion and in a single nighttransformed the ripening summer foliage to the splendor of autumn. TheTolman family were in the highest spirits; it was not often that Mr.Tolman could be persuaded to leave his business and steal away for aweek-end and when he did it was always a cause for great rejoicing.Doris, elated at the prospect of rejoining her college friends, was alsoin the happiest frame of mind and tripped up and down stairs, collectingher forgotten possessions and jamming them into her already bulgingsuitcase.
As for Steve, the prickings of conscience that had at first tormentedhim and made him shrink from being left alone with his father had quitevanished. He had argued himself into a state of mental tranquilitywhere further punishment for his misdemeanor seemed superfluous. Afterhis hairbreadth escape from disaster there was no danger, he argued, ofhis repeating the experiment, and was not this the very lesson allpunishments sought to instill? If he had achieved this result withoutbothering his father about the details, why so much the better. Did notthe old adage say that "experience is the best teacher"? Certainly inthis case the maxim held true.
Having thus excused his under-handedness and stifled the protests of hisbetter nature he felt, or tried to feel, entirely at peace with theworld; and as he now sauntered out to greet the new day he did it asjauntily as if he had nothing to conceal. Already the car was at thedoor with the luggage aboard and its engine humming invitingly. As theboy listened to the sound he could not but rejoice that the purringmonster could tell no tales. How disconcerting it would be should thescarlet devil suddenly shout aloud: "Well, Steve, don't you hope we donot get stalled to-day the way we did going to Torrington?" Mercifullythere was no danger of that. The engine might puff and purr and snortbut at least it could not talk, and his secret was quite safe. Thisreflection lighted his face with courage and when the family came out tojoin him no one would have suspected that the slender boy waiting on thedoorstep harbored a thought of anything but anticipation in the prospectof the coming holiday.
"Is everything in, Steve?" asked his father, approaching with Doris'sremaining grip.
"I think so, Dad," was the reply. "It certainly seems as if I had piledin almost a dozen suitcases."
"Nonsense, Stevie," pouted Doris. "There were only four."
"Five, Miss Sophomore!" contradicted her brother. "Five! That one Dad isbringing makes the fifth, and I would be willing to bet that it isyours."
"That's where you are wrong, Smartie," the girl laughed good-humoredly,making a mischievous grimace at him from beneath the brim of her saucylittle toque of blue velvet. "I am not guilty of the extra suitcase.It's mother's."
"Your mother's!" ejaculated Mr. Tolman incredulously. "Mercy on us! Inever knew your mother to be starting out on a short trip with such anarray of gowns." Then turning toward his wife, he added in banteringfashion: "Aren't you getting a little frivolous, my dear? If it wereDoris now--"
"But it isn't this time!" interrupted the young lady triumphantly.
Her mother exchanged a glance with her and they both laughed.
"No, Henry, I am the one to blame," Mrs. Tolman admitted. "You see, if Iam to keep pace with my big son and daughter I must look my best; so Ihave not only brought the extra suitcase but I am going to betremendously fussy as to where it is put."
"I do believe Mater's brought all her jewels with her!" Steve declaredwickedly. "Well, she shall have her sunbursts, tiaras, and things whereshe can keep her eye on them every moment. Suppose I put them down hereat your feet, Mother."
Without further ado, he started to lift the basket suitcase into thecar.
"Don't tip it up, son. Don't tip it up!" cautioned his mother.
"Your mother is afraid of knocking some of the pearls or emeralds out oftheir setting," chuckled Mr. Tolman. "Go easy, Steve!"
A general laugh arose as the offending piece of baggage was stowed awayout of sight. An instant later wraps and rugs were bundled in, everybodywas cosily tucked up, and Mr. Tolman placed his hands on the wheel.
"Now we're off, Dad!" cried Stephen, as he sprang in beside his father.Mr. Tolman needed no second bidding.
There was a whir, a leap forward, and the automobile glided down thelong avenue and out into the highway.
Steve, studying the road map, was too much interested in tracing out theroute they were to follow to notice that after the car had spun alongsmoothly for several miles its speed lessened, and it was not until itcame to a complete standstill that he aroused himself from hispreoccupation sufficiently to see that his father was bending forwardover the starter.
"What's wrong, Henry?" inquired his wife from the back seat.
"I can't imagine," was the impatient reply. "Had I not left the tankwith gasoline in it, I should say it was empty; but of course thatcannot be the case, for I always keep enough in it to carry us to thegarage. Otherwise we should be stalled at our own doorstep and not ableto get anywhere."
Climbing out, he began to unscrew the metal top of the tank whileStephen watched him in consternation.
The boy did not need to hear the result of the investigation for alreadythe wretched truth flashed upon him. The tank was empty; of course itwas! He knew that without being told. Had not the workman who hadreplenished it Wednesday said quite plainly that there was only enoughgas in it to get him home to Coventry? He should have remembered to stopat the garage and take on an extra supply on the way back as his fatheralways did. How stupid he had been! In his haste to get home he hadforgotten every other consideration and the present dilemma was theresult of his thoughtlessness. Yet how could he have stopped at theCoventry garage even had he thought of it? All the men there knew himand his father, and if he had gone there or had even driven through thecenter of the town somebody would have been sure to see him and mentionthe incident. Why, it was to avoid this very danger that he had returnedby the less frequented way.
The man in the brown jeans had certainly calculated to a nicety when hemeasured out that gasoline. He had not meant him to do any more ridingthat day; that was apparent. What business was it of his, anyway, andwhy was he so solicitous as to where he went? There was somethingpuzzling about that man. Steve had thought so at the time. Not that itmattered now. All that did matter was that here they were stalled at theside of the road in almost the same spot where he had been stalled theother day; and they were there because he had neglected to procuregasoline.
The lad felt the hot blood throb in his cheeks. Again the chance forconfession confronted him and again his tongue was tied. In a word hecould have explained the whole predicament; but he did not. Instead hesat as if stunned, the heart inside him pounding violently. He saw thathis father was not only deeply annoyed but baffled to solve theincident.
"The gas is all out; that's the trouble!" he announced.
"What are we going to do, Dad?" inquired Doris anxiously.
"Oh, we can get more all right, daughter," returned her fatherreassuringly. "Don't worry, my dear. But what I can't understand is howwe come to be in such a plight."
"Doesn't gasoline evaporate, Henry?" suggested Mrs. Tolman.
"To some extent, yes; but there could be no such shrinkage as thisunless there was a leak in the tank. I never dreamed the supply was solow. Well, it is my own fault. I should have made sure everything wasright before we started."
Steve shifted his position uncomfortably. He was manly enough not toenjoy hearing his father shoulder blame that did not rightfully belongto him.
"Now let me think what we had better do," went on Mr. Tolman."Unfortunately there isn't a house in sight from which we can telephonefor help; and we are fully five miles from Torrington. Our only hope isthat some one bound for the town may overtake us and allow Steve to rideto the village for aid."
"Couldn't I walk it, Dad?" asked the boy, with an impulse to make goodthe mischief he had done.
&nb
sp; "Oh, no; I wouldn't do that unless the worst befalls," his fatherreplied kindly. "We should gain nothing. It is a long tramp and wouldsimply be a waste of time. Let us wait like Mr. Micawber, and see ifsomething does not turn up."
Wretchedly Stephen settled back into his seat. He would rather havewalked to Torrington, done almost anything rather than remain there inthe quiet autumn stillness and listen to the accusations of hisconscience. What a coward he was!
"It is a shame for us to be tied up here!" he heard Doris complain.
"I know it, daughter, and I am as sorry as you are," responded herfather patiently. "In fact, probably, I am more sorry, since it isthrough my own carelessness that we are stranded."
Again the impulse to blurt out the truth and take the blame thatbelonged to him took possession of Stephen; but with resolution heforced it back. Nervously he fingered the road map. If he had onlyspoken at the beginning! It was harder now. He should have made a cleanbreast of the whole affair when his father got home from New York. Thenwas the time to have done it. But since he had let that opportunity passit was awkward, almost absurd, to make confession now. He would muchbetter keep still.
In the meanwhile a gradual depression fell upon the occupants of thecar. Mrs. Tolman did not speak; Doris subsided into hushed annoyance;and Mr. Tolman began to pace back and forth at the side of the road andanxiously scan the stretch of macadam that narrowed away between theavenue of trees bordering the highway. Presently he uttered anexclamation of relief.
"Here comes a truck!" he cried. "We will tip the driver and persuade himto let you ride on to Torrington with him, Steve. This is great luck!"
Stepping into the pathway of the approaching car he held up his hand andthe passer-by came to a stop beside him.
Stephen looked up expectantly; then a thrill of foreboding seized himand he quickly turned his head aside. It needed no second glance toassure him that the man whom his father was addressing was none otherthan the workman in the brown jeans who had rescued him from his formerplight. He bent lower over the road map, trying to conceal his face anddecide what to do. In another moment the teamster would probablyrecognize him, recall the incident of their former meeting, and hailinghim as an old acquaintance, relate the entire story. The possibility wasappalling, but terrible as it was it did not equal the disquietude heexperienced when he heard his father ejaculate with sudden surprise:
"Why, if it isn't O'Malley! I did not recognize you, Jake. You are justin time to extricate us from a most inconvenient situation. We areheaded for Northampton and find ourselves without gasoline. If you cantake my son along to Torrington with you so he can hunt up a garage andride back with some one on a service car I shall be very grateful toyou."
"I'd be glad to go myself, sir."
"No, no! I shall not allow you to do that," protested Mr. Tolman. "Youare on your way to work and I could not think of detaining you. All Iask is that you take my boy along to the village."
"I'd really be pleased to go, sir," reiterated O'Malley. "I am in nogreat rush."
"No, I shan't hear to it, Jake," Mr. Tolman repeated. "Nevertheless Iappreciate your offer. Take the boy along and that is all I'll ask.Come, Steve, jump aboard! O'Malley, son, is one of our railroad people,whose services we value highly. He is going to be good enough to let youride over to Torrington with him."
Although the introduction compelled Stephen to give the waiting employeea nod of greeting, he did not meet his eye or evince any sign ofrecognition, and he sensed that the light that had flashed into theman's face at sight of him died out as quickly as it had come. The boyhad an uncomfortable realization as he climbed to the seat of the truckand took his place beside its driver that O'Malley must be rating him asa snob. No one but a cad would accept a stranger's kindness and then cuthim dead the next time he encountered him. It was better to endure thismisjudgment, however, than to acknowledge a previous acquaintance withthe mechanic and thereby arouse his father's suspicion and curiosity.Hence, without further parley, he settled himself and in silence thetruck started off.
For some minutes he waited, expecting that when they were well out ofearshot of the family the man at the wheel would turn and with a laughmake some reference to the adventure of the past week. It certainly musthave amused him to find the great red car again stalled in the samespot, and what would be more natural than that he should comment on thecoincidence and perhaps make a joke of the circumstance? But to theboy's chagrin the teamster did no such thing. Instead he kept his eyesfixed on the road and gave no evidence that he had ever before seen thelad at his elbow.
Stephen was aghast. It was not possible the workman had forgotten thehappening. He began to feel very uncomfortable. As the landscape slippedpast and the car sped on, the distance to Torrington lessened. Stillthere seemed to be no prospect of the stranger at the wheel breaking hissilence. If it had merely been a silence perhaps Steve would not haveminded so much; but there was an implied rebuke in the stillness thatnettled and stung and left him with a consciousness of being ignored bya superior being.
"I say!" he burst out, when he could endure the ignominy of his positionno longer, "don't you remember me, Mr. O'Malley?"
The man who guided the car did not turn his head but he nodded.
"I remember you all right," replied he politely. "I just thought you didnot remember me."
"Oh, I remembered you right away," declared Steve eagerly.
"Did you?"
There was a subtle irony in the tone that the lad was not clever enoughto detect.
"Of course."
"Is that so!" came dryly from O'Malley.
"Yes, indeed! I remembered you right away," Steve stumbled on. "You arethe man who gave me the gasoline when I was stuck here Wednesday."
"I am."
"I knew you the first minute I saw you," repeated Stephen.
"I did not notice any sign that you did," was the terse response.
"Oh--well--you see, I couldn't very well speak back there," explainedSteve with confusion. "They would all have wanted to know where I--Imean I would have to--it would just have made a lot of talk," concludedhe lamely.
For the first time the elder man, moving his eyes from the ribbon ofgleaming highway, confronted him.
"So your father did not know you had the car out the other day?" saidhe.
"N--o."
The workman showed no surprise.
"I guessed as much," he remarked. "But of course you have told himsince."
"Not yet," Steve stammered. "I was going to--honest I was; but thingskept interrupting until it got to be so late that it seemed silly torake the matter all up. Besides, I shan't do it again, so what is theuse of jawing about it?"
He stopped, awaiting a response from the railroad employee; but nonecame.
"Anyhow," he argued with rising irritability, "what good does it do todiscuss things that are over and done with? You can't undo them."
The man at the wheel vouchsafed no answer.
"It is because I forgot to stop for more gas when I went home the otherday that we are in this fix now," Steve finally blurted out, findingrelief in brutal confession.
Still the only reply to his monologue was the chugging of the engine.
At last his voice rose to a higher pitch and there was anger in it.
"I'm talking to you," he shouted in exasperation.
"I am listening."
"Well, why don't you say something?"
"What is there to say?"
"Why--eh--you could tell me what you think."
"I guess you know that already."
Stephen's face turned scarlet.
"I did intend to tell my father," repeated he, instantly on thedefensive. "Straight goods, I did."
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"It was only that it didn't seem to come right. You know how things gosometimes."
He saw the workman's lip curl.
"You think I ought to have told."
"Have I said so?"
"No, bu
t I know you do think so."
"I wasn't aware I'd expressed any opinion."
"No--but--well--hang it all--you think I am a coward for not making aclean breast of the whole thing!" cried Stephen, now thoroughly enraged.
"What do you think yourself?" O'Malley suddenly inquired withdisconcerting directness.
"Oh, I know I've been rotten," admitted the boy. "Still, even now--" Hepaused.
"You mean that even now it isn't too late?" put in the truckman, hisface lighting to a smile.
"N--o; that wasn't exactly what I was going to say," began the lad,resuming his argumentative tone. "What I mean is that--"
A swift frown replaced the elder man's smile.
"Here we are at the garage," he broke in. "They will do whatever youwant them to."
He seemed in a hurry and as Stephen could find no excuse for lingeringhe climbed reluctantly out of the truck and stood balancing himself onthe curb that edged the sidewalk.
"I'm much obliged to you for bringing me over," he observed awkwardly.
"That's all right."
The man in the brown jeans started his engine.
"Say, Mr. O'Malley!" called Stephen desperately.
"Well?"
"You--you--won't tell my father about my taking the car, will you?" hepleaded wretchedly.
"_I_ tell him?"
Never had he heard so much scorn compressed into three words.
"You need have no worries," declared the man over his shoulder, acontemptuous sneer curling his lips. "I confess my own wrong-doing but Ido not tattle the sins of other people. Your father will never be thewiser about you so far as I am concerned. Whatever you want him to knowyou will have to tell him yourself."
Baffled, mortified, and stinging with humiliation as if he had beenwhipped, Stephen watched him disappear round the bend of the road.
O'Malley despised him, that he knew; and he did not at all relish beingdespised.
Steve and the Steam Engine Page 2
