Steve and the Steam Engine | Page 8

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over 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 tank with
gasoline in it, I should say it was empty; but of course that cannot be
the case, for I always keep enough in it to carry us to the garage.
Otherwise we should be stalled at our own doorstep and not able to get
anywhere."
Climbing out, he began to unscrew the metal top of the tank while
Stephen watched him in consternation.
The boy did not need to hear the result of the investigation for already

the wretched truth flashed upon him. The tank was empty; of course it
was! He knew that without being told. Had not the workman who had
replenished it Wednesday said quite plainly that there was only enough
gas in it to get him home to Coventry? He should have remembered to
stop at the garage and take on an extra supply on the way back as his
father always did. How stupid he had been! In his haste to get home he
had forgotten every other consideration and the present dilemma was
the result of his thoughtlessness. Yet how could he have stopped at the
Coventry garage even had he thought of it? All the men there knew him
and his father, and if he had gone there or had even driven through the
center of the town somebody would have been sure to see him and
mention the incident. Why, it was to avoid this very danger that he had
returned by the less frequented way.
The man in the brown jeans had certainly calculated to a nicety when
he measured out that gasoline. He had not meant him to do any more
riding that day; that was apparent. What business was it of his, anyway,
and why was he so solicitous as to where he went? There was
something puzzling about that man. Steve had thought so at the time.
Not that it mattered now. All that did matter was that here they were
stalled at the side of the road in almost the same spot where he had
been stalled the other day; and they were there because he had
neglected to procure gasoline.
The lad felt the hot blood throb in his cheeks. Again the chance for
confession confronted him and again his tongue was tied. In a word he
could have explained the whole predicament; but he did not. Instead he
sat as if stunned, the heart inside him pounding violently. He saw that
his father was not only deeply annoyed but baffled to solve the
incident.
"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 father
reassuringly. "Don't worry, my dear. But what I can't understand is how
we 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 this
unless there was a leak in the tank. I never dreamed the supply was so
low. Well, it is my own fault. I should have made sure everything was
right before we started."
Steve shifted his position uncomfortably. He was manly enough not to
enjoy hearing his father shoulder blame that did not rightfully belong to
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 telephone
for help; and we are fully five miles from Torrington. Our only hope is
that some one bound for the town may overtake us and allow Steve to
ride to the village for aid."
"Couldn't I walk it, Dad?" asked the boy, with an impulse to make good
the mischief he had done.
"Oh, no; I wouldn't do that unless the worst befalls," his father replied
kindly. "We should gain nothing. It is a long tramp and would simply
be a waste of time. Let us wait like Mr. Micawber, and see if something
does not turn up."
Wretchedly Stephen settled back into his seat. He would rather have
walked to Torrington, done almost anything rather than remain there in
the quiet autumn stillness and listen to the accusations of his
conscience. 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 her
father patiently. "In fact, probably, I am more sorry, since it is through
my own carelessness that we are stranded."
Again the impulse to blurt out the truth and take the blame that
belonged to him