But, on this point, he need not have disturbed himself. Neither Victor nor any of the others was at the hotel when the car stopped before the entrance.
“Those chaps even had the confounded cheek to leave their traps for me to look after,” grumbled Tom, as the boy in bright brass buttons assisted him in stowing away the luggage. “Well, all right. The first inning of the game’s been played. Here’s the beginning of the second.”
Once more the touring car was in motion. With all the responsibility resting on his shoulders, the lad experienced new and novel sensations—and most of them were not altogether pleasant. He sadly missed Bob Somers’ words of caution and advice. Approaching the public square, with numerous vehicles and pedestrians on all sides, he became decidedly nervous.
Just as the car rolled toward the principal crossing, around the corner of which Tom decided to turn, a tall man who had been reading a newspaper by the curb suddenly stepped out into the street.
With a cry, Tom reached over and sounded the horn sharply. He took his foot off the clutch and threw on the break. It was an instant of intense satisfaction to him—and, perhaps, some surprise, when the touring car abruptly stopped.
And, meanwhile, a flying leap had taken the man to safety.
At the moment of landing, fully a yard from the starting point, his temper took effect all at once.
“Hey there, what’s the matter? Ain’t you got no eyes?” he demanded, in amazingly gruff tones.
“Well, that’s a good one!” cried Tom, though his voice was somewhat shaky. “How—how—about yourself?”
“Don’t pass out any flip talk, now. I won’t stand for it.”