"Don't talk any more about it now, Stevie," pleaded his mother.
"But I've got to know," said the lad. "Can't you see that—"
"Let me talk with him alone a moment," suggested Mr. Tolman in an undertone. "He is all upset and he won't calm down until he has this thing off his mind. Leave me here with him a little while. I'll promise that he does not tire himself."
The doctor, Mr. Ackerman and Mrs. Tolman moved across the room toward the window.
"You asked how I knew, son," began his father with extreme gentleness. "I didn't really know. I just put two and two together. There was the scratched machine and the gasoline gone—both of which facts puzzled me not a little. But the proof that clinched it all and made me certain of what had happened came to me this morning when Havens brought me an old red sweater and some school papers of Bud Taylor's that the men who were overhauling the car found under the seat. In an instant the whole thing was solved."
"You knew before we went skating then?"
"Yes."
"And—and—you jumped into the water after me just the same."
Mr. Tolman's voice trembled:
"You are my son and I love you no matter what you may do."