“I will never again leave a child alone in an automobile,” he declared. “That girl was a little terror. I never saw one so spoiled and disagreeable in my life. She was determined to be allowed to run the car from the minute she got in, and she annoyed me constantly by playing with the electric buttons and getting her hands constantly on the wheel. I never dreamed she would have the strength to start the car, although she is large and strong for her age. But she has all kinds of nerve and impudence, and I might have known better than to stop here at all when I had such a passenger. Her grandmother is a nervous wreck; but she doesn’t blame me, fortunately, although I blame myself decidedly. It is my business to know men, and I should have known that child well enough to realize it was a risk to leave her.”
“Kid ought to be spanked!” declared Carey gruffly. “Know what she did? When she saw she was going to run into that car, she lost every bit of nerve, and began climbing over the back of the seat. Some kid that! Just bad all through. Any nervy kid I know would have stuck it out and tried to steer her somehow, but that kid had a yellow streak.”
“You’re right there,” declared Maxwell with watchful eyes upon the young man. “But you had your nerve with you all right, I noticed. When you swung off that running-board, it was an even chance you took. If you had missed your calculation by so much as a hair’s breadth, you would have been smashed up pretty badly, crushed between the cars, probably.”
Carey gave his shoulders a slight shrug.
“It’s all in a lifetime,” he said lightly. “But, say, that’s a peach of a car you’ve got. Had it long?” and they launched into a lengthy discussion of cars in general and Maxwell’s in particular. Cornelia noticed that all the time Maxwell was watching her brother keenly, intently. As he got up to leave, he asked casually:
“Are you still working with the garage people?”
Carey colored, and lifted his chin a trifle haughtily.
“Yes. I—yes!” he answered defiantly.
“Stick to it till something better comes along,” advised Maxwell. “It isn’t a bad line, and you get a lot of good dope about machines that won’t do you any harm in the future. You’re a good man, and there’s a good job waiting for you somewhere”; and with that he said, “Good night.”
Mr. Copley came in presently with a late edition of the evening paper. He had been called to the home of his manager, who was ill, on a business consultation. He looked tired but exalted. He spread the paper out on the table under the lamp, and called the children.