The swerve which took them away from each other was as slight as that which a ship gets from her rudder. Tom continued to play round in the water till he saw the older man reach the bathing cabins, dress, and go away.
That afternoon he was told to drive back to Keene both Mr. Ansley and the guest whom he, Tom, had brought over on the previous evening. As the latter came out to enter the car it was easy to recognize the swimmer of the morning.
Tom held the door open, his hand to his cap. The gentleman gave him a swift, keen look.
"Oh, so this is what you do!"
"Yes, sir; this is what I do. Mr. Ansley got me the job."
"Young fellow whom Guy has befriended," Mr. Ansley explained, as he took his place beside his friend.
But in the Pullman, when Tom had carried in the gentleman's valise, there was another minute in which they were alone. The car was nearly empty; there were still some five minutes before the departure of the train. While the colored porter took the suitcase the traveler turned to Tom. He was a tall man, straight and flexible like Tom himself, but a little heavier.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen, sir."
A shadow flew across the face. "Tad is seventeen, too. That settles any—" Without stating what was settled by this coincidence of ages, he went on with his quick, peremptory questions. "What do you do when you leave here?"