Steve and the Steam Engine | Page 5

fear of lengthening the interview prevented him from doing so.
If he began to ask questions might not the stranger assume the same
privilege and wheel upon him with some embarrassing inquiry? No, the

sooner he was clear of this wizard in the brown overalls the better. But
for the sake of his peace of mind he should like to know whether the
man really knew who he was or whether his comments were simply
matters of chance. There certainly was something very uncanny and
uncomfortable about it all, something that led him to feel that the
person in the jumper was fully acquainted with his escapade,
disapproved of it, and meant to prevent him from prolonging it. Yet as
he took a peep into the kindly blue eyes which he did not trust himself
to meet directly he wondered if this assumption were not created by a
guilty conscience rather than by fact. Certainly there was nothing
accusatory in the other's bearing. His face was frankness itself. In
books criminals were always fearing that people suspected them,
reflected Steve. The man knew nothing about him at all. It was absurd
to think he did.
Nevertheless the boy was eager to be gone from the presence of those
searching blue eyes and therefore he climbed into his car, murmuring
hurriedly:
"You've been corking to help me out!"
The workman held up a protesting hand.
"Don't think of it again," he answered. "I was glad to do it. Good luck
to you!"
With nervous hands Stephen started the engine and, backing the
automobile about, headed it homeward. Now that danger was past his
desire to reach Coventry before his father should arrive drove every
other thought from his mind, and soon the mysterious hero of the
brown jumper was forgotten. Although he made wonderfully good time
back over the road it seemed hours before he turned in at his own gate
and brought the throbbing motor to rest in the garage. A sigh of
thankfulness welled up within him. The great red leviathan that had
caused him such anguish of spirit stood there in the stillness as
peacefully as if it had never stirred from the spot it occupied. If only it
had remained there, how glad the boy would have been.

He ventured to look toward the windows fronting the avenue. No one
was in sight, it was true; but to flatter himself that he had been
unobserved was ridiculous for he saw by the clock that his father,
mother, and Doris must already have reached home. Doubtless they
were in the house now and fully acquainted with what he had done. If
they had not missed the car from the garage they would at least have
seen it whirl into the driveway with him at the wheel. Any moment his
father might appear at his shoulder. To delay was useless. He had had
his fun and now in manly fashion he must face the music and pay for it.
How he dreaded the coming storm!
Once, twice he braced himself, then moved reluctantly toward the
house, climbed the steps, and let himself in at the front door. He could
hardly expect any one would come to greet him under the
circumstances. An ominous silence pervaded the great dim hall but
after the glare of the white ribbon of road on which his eyes had been
so intently fixed he found the darkness cool and tranquilizing. At first
he could scarcely see; then as he gradually became accustomed to the
faint light he espied on the silver card tray a telegram addressed to
himself and with a quiver of apprehension tore it open. Telegrams were
not such a common occurrence in his life that he had ceased to regard
them with misgiving.
The message on which his gaze rested, however, contained no ill
tidings. On the contrary it merely announced that the family had been
detained in New York longer than they had expected and would not
return until noon to-morrow. He would have almost another day,
therefore, before he would be forced to make confession to his father!
The respite was a welcome one and with it his tenseness relaxed. He
even gained courage on the strength of his steadier nerves to creep into
the kitchen and confront Mary, the cook, whom he knew must have
seen him shoot into the driveway and who, having been years in the
home, would not hesitate to lecture him roundly for his conduct. But
Mary was not there and neither was Julia, the waitress. In the absence
of the head of the house the two had evidently ascended to the third
story there to forget in sleep the cares of daily life. Stephen smiled at
the discovery. It was a coincidence. Unquestionably Fate was