"Oh, Steve never drives the car," put in Mrs. Tolman quickly. "He is not old enough to have a license yet, you know. That proves absolutely that you were mistaken. But Stephen has run the car now and then when Havens or his father were with him and he does very well at it. Some day he will be driving it alone, won't you, son?" Bending forward she patted the boy's shoulder affectionately. For an instant it seemed to Stephen as if every one in both cars must have heard the _pound_, _pound_, _pound_ of his heart, as if everybody from Coventry to Torrington must have heard it. Helplessly he stared at Bud and Bud stared back. No words were needed to assure the two that once again they were linked together by misdoing as they often had been in the past. Bud looked anxiously toward his chum. He was a mischievous, happy-go-lucky lad but in his homely, freckled face there was a winsome manliness. Whatever the scrapes he got into through sheer love of fun it was characteristic of him that he was always courageous enough to confess to them. This was the first inkling he had had that Stephen had not acquainted his father with the escapade of the previous week and such a course was so at variance with his own frank nature that he was aghast. Even now he waited, expecting his pal would offer the true explanation of the mystery under discussion. He was ready to bear his share of the blame,--bear more than belonged to him if he could lighten Steve's sentence of punishment. But the silence remained unbroken and the words he expected to hear did not come. A wave of surprise swept over his face, surprise followed by a growing scorn. It came to him in a flash that Stephen Tolman, the boy he had looked up to as a sort of idol, was a coward, a coward! He was afraid! It seemed impossible. Why, Steve was always in the thick of the football skirmishes, never shrinking from the roughness of the game; he was a fearless hockey player, a dauntless fighter. Coward was the last name one would have thought of applying to him. And yet here he sat cowering before the just result of his conduct. Bud was disappointed, ashamed; he turned away his head but not before the wretched lad who confronted him had caught in his glance the same contemptuous expression he had seen in O'Malley's face. Again Stephen was despised and knew it. Nevertheless it would not do to betray his secret now. He must not show that he was disconcerted. At every cost he must brazen out the affair. He had gone too far to do otherwise. He wondered as he sat there if any one suspected him; if his father, whose eye was as keen as that of an eagle, had put together any of the threads of evidence. He might be cherishing suspicions this very moment. It seemed impossible that he shouldn't. If only he would speak and have it over! Anything would be better than this suspense and uncertainty.