His thoughts were very busy indeed as he pushed and pedaled his way home.
It was quite dark by the time he swung into his own street, and the infrequent lights left pockets of gloom between them. It was in one of these that a voice came to Joe above the swishing sound of his tires on the wet asphalt.
“Hey!” said the voice imperatively. “Hold up!”
Joe obeyed, coming to a halt as a dark figure detached itself from the deeper darkness across the street. The figure resolved itself into the burly form of a policeman who, joining the boy, peered suspiciously from him to the bicycle.
“What’s it?” asked Joe.
“Whose wheel is that?” demanded the officer gruffly.
“Mine,” replied Joe. “That is, it belongs to Donaldson and Burns. They let me use it.”
“What’s your name? Where do you live?”
Joe told him, explaining his errand and indicating the wire carrier as confirmatory evidence, and the officer grunted as though satisfied and went on. So did Joe, arriving home a minute later very wet and very hungry; and also secretly rather excited. He had difficulty getting to sleep that night.