The absurdity of the question brought back his good humor.
"No. I grant that," McPhearson agreed. "Still you might have proceeded with a grain less speed. I always think an action can bear considering."
"But all actions can't be considered," was the crisp reply. Again an edge of sharpness had crept into the lad's voice.
"Well, well. Maybe no harm's done," the clockmaker hastened to say soothingly. "No doubt the police chase about on a hundred false clews a day. Their information can't always be right."
"You feel like a fool, though, if you give them the wrong clew."
"Yes, you do."
The promptness of the concession was anything but comforting. Obviously McPhearson felt that in the present instance, at least, the tip offered had been both valueless and absurd. A strained silence fell between them.
"I suppose we may as well hail another bus and get back to the store," the clock repairer at length suggested. "There's no good hanging round here."
Although he did not actually say in so many words that they had already wasted two fares, Christopher, well aware of his Scotch thrift, felt his manner implied it.
They did not say much during the ride down town. McPhearson was a bit ruffled and annoyed, and Christopher crestfallen and mortified. He was thinking, too, that he would have to confess to his father what he had so impulsively done, and receive from him more jeers and ridicule linked with probable admonitions to greater deliberation and caution in future. He hated to be preached at. Therefore he was entirely unprepared for the ovation that greeted his return to the shop.