He did not answer, but he was thinking deeply. Something of a very serious nature must have occurred at Treasureholme to make necessary all this haste. He did not know that they had sent for him because of the great confidence the Presbys reposed in him. It would have made little difference to the resourceful Bob Stevens if he had known.
The car lurched into the drive, past the scene of Ruth's previous disaster, where the broken posts and twisted gates still lay at one side of the drive. None of the occupants of the car heeded these evidences of a former smash-up. Ruth's eyes were on the drive. Bob's eyes were on the house, while Tommy's eyes were so full of snow that they weren't fixed on anything in particular.
The car came to a jolting stop in front of the Presby home. At that instant the rear of the car settled with a crunching sound.
"There go the rims," said Ruth calmly. "But I don't care now. Please hurry."
Bob lifted Tommy to the ground, the boy being on the side that Stevens had leaped from just as the rims were going down. He then assisted Ruth out. Tommy rubbed the snow from his eyes, blinked rapidly and gazed at Ruth.
"Never no more for mine," he declared, with ungrammatical force.
Ruth tried to run up the steps. She halted suddenly. Her body swayed unsteadily. Stevens thought she was going to collapse. He took firm hold of her arm.
"Let me assist you," he said politely.
"I—I am all right," muttered Ruth. "Just a little dizzy from watching the road so closely," then she crumpled up on the steps of Treasureholme.
Bob Stevens picked her up and carried the girl into the house, followed by Tom, still blinking. Tom was choking a little, too. Everything had been moving so rapidly that, active as was his mind, he hadn't been able to follow matters very clearly.