The perspiration of Mr. J. Jervice had not been without occasion. The tire he was trying to change had done good service—it was, in fact, the very first tire that wheel had ever carried. Perhaps it cherished fond hopes of remaining in service as long as the wheel to which it clung—at least it resisted most strenuously all efforts to detach it. Both Glen and the man were moist with their efforts before it came away, and they accumulated still more dirt and moisture in applying its successor. But at last it was all done, and Glen had already mounted to the seat, while his companion was putting away his tools, when a cart drove up alongside and Glen recognized in the driver, Mr. Gates.
"What's the matter?" he asked, as Mr. Gates pulled up his horse.
"What's the matter?" echoed Mr. J. Jervice; "this boy been doing anything?"
It was not an unnatural question for there was something in Mr. Gates's look and in Glen's questioning tone that betokened affairs out of the ordinary; furthermore, Mr. J. Jervice seemed to be so suspicious of people in general that one might well think he had something to conceal.
"The boy's all right," replied Mr. Gates. "I have something to say to him, that's all. If he will come over here we will drive on a few feet while I say it."
Glen's thoughts flew back to the folded newspaper and he was instantly suspicious.
"I don't want to get down," he said. "This gentleman's agreed to give me a ride to town and I don't want to keep him."
"But I want you to stay," replied Mr. Gates. "I will take you to town if you wish, but first I want you to go back home with me and I will tell you something important."
Glen felt one of his old, unrestrained passions rising within him.
"I know what you want," he cried. "I saw the newspaper. You want to send me back to the reform school."