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Johnny Blossom looked very small standing in the road beside the big carriage. The crown and brim of his hat gaped widely apart on one side, and out of the opening stuck a lock of dark brown hair. His blue and white striped blouse had a daub of pitch in the middle of the front; and since Johnny Blossom knew it was there, he held a little brown hand over it, while he gazed up at the double chin of the imposing Miss Melling. It was not long, however, before their strong constitutions asserted themselves. Soon both boys were able to sit up and take stock of what damage had been done. Jerry was first on his feet, pale and a little shaky, but again master of himself. “Why—why you never wanted to go before and I—I don’t think I can take you with me to-day.”.

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“You should have!” This was all the rebuke the young engineer was to get. Perhaps it was because Whitney did things that way, that all his men adored him. He did not think that because a man made a mistake that he should be shamed before his fellow workers. He turned to Bob. “No,” Bob gasped. “Mig—Miguel got away!” “Don’t let him fool you,” said Ted when he had listened to the end of the story. “Jerry’s mixed up in this as sure as shooting, and he’s putting on that careless attitude just as a blind.” For a time all went well, but soon Jerry said in a whisper—somehow the dark made him whisper rather than speak aloud—“I can’t touch the roof any more, can you?”.