"So your father did not know you had the car out the other day?" said he. "N--o." The workman showed no surprise. "I guessed as much," he remarked. "But of course you have told him since." "Not yet," Steve stammered. "I was going to--honest I was; but things kept interrupting until it got to be so late that it seemed silly to rake the matter all up. Besides, I shan't do it again, so what is the use of jawing about it?" He stopped, awaiting a response from the railroad employee; but none came. "Anyhow," he argued with rising irritability, "what good does it do to discuss 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 other day that we are in this fix now," Steve finally blurted out, finding relief 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 the defensive. "Straight goods, I did." The man shrugged his shoulders. "It was only that it didn't seem to come right. You know how things go sometimes." He saw the workman's lip curl. "You think I ought to have told." "Have I said so?" "No, but 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 a clean breast of the whole thing!" cried Stephen, now thoroughly enraged. "What do you think yourself?" O'Malley suddenly inquired with disconcerting directness. "Oh, I know I've been rotten," admitted the boy. "Still, even now--" He paused. "You mean that even now it isn't too late?" put in the truckman, his face 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 you want them to." He seemed in a hurry and as Stephen could find no excuse for lingering he climbed reluctantly out of the truck and stood balancing himself on the 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?" he pleaded wretchedly. "_I_ tell him?" Never had he heard so much scorn compressed into three words.