There was a sudden silence. Meg, on the outside of the crowd, experienced a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.
"Were you coasting, Palmer?" asked Mr. Carter, righting the automobile as he spoke. Then he saw the fence.
"Who ripped off those pickets?" he demanded sternly.
"I—I did," admitted Bobby in a very small voice.
The clang of the gong sounded and Mr. Carter turned to the listening children.
"Go back to your classes," he directed them. "You stay, Bobby and
Palmer. I want to speak to you."
Obediently the others filed in, not without many a backward glance at the group by the fence.
"Now suppose you tell me about it," suggested Mr. Carter mildly.
So Bobby told about the drive of the previous afternoon and of how his father had landed the car in the bushes; he told about his scheme to prove that he could steer, and of how Palmer had asked to try, too.
"But he didn't make the hole wide enough," complained the battered Palmer. "First try I hit the side. I think it's an awful silly thing to do, anyway."