“It was at the bend by the Hanlon farm,” Stovebridge explained. “I was hitting up a pretty good clip, and when I came round the bend she was standing in the middle of the road. There was plenty of time for her to get away, but she never moved. I tried to run to one side, but there wasn’t room, and--the kid went under.”
“I always said they didn’t have sense enough to get out of the way,” Marston remarked in a vexed tone.
“What made you beat it?” he asked. “Why didn’t you stop and pick her up? It wasn’t your fault--no one could have blamed you, if you only hadn’t run away.”
“I couldn’t, Fred--I simply couldn’t,” Stovebridge confessed, without lifting his eyes. “My one idea was to get away before any one saw me. You know the beastly things they do to a fellow sometimes. Why, I might have been jugged for a year or more.”
“Yes, I know,” agreed the other. “Still----”
He stopped abruptly and looked out over the golf course in a meditative way.
“You managed pretty well, though,” he said presently as he turned back to Stovebridge. “No one saw you on your way here, I suppose?”
“No; if it wasn’t for that beastly cap I should feel quite safe. But Merriwell suspects me on that account.”
“Let him suspect!” he snapped angrily. “We’ll fix that all right. It wouldn’t be safe for you to buy another, but there’s nothing to prevent my doing so.”
“Of course there isn’t!” Stovebridge exclaimed in a tone of relief. “And you’ll do it?”
“I certainly will,” he declared. “I’d do more than that to spite a Merriwell. Lend me your car and I’ll go to Wilton right after lunch.”
Stovebridge breathed a sigh of relief. How fortunate he had confided in Marston. With the question of the cap settled and Jim Hanlon sidetracked, he would have nothing to fear. Dick Merriwell might do his worst, but he could prove nothing.
“Well, let’s toddle in and get something sustaining,” he suggested. “I feel the need of a little bracer.”
“Don’t forget to pick out a medium check,” Stovebridge reminded, as they strolled through the reception hall to the dining room beyond. “I said mine was a little larger than the one he picked up, but if you get it too pronounced, Bob Jennings will smell a rat. He’s a bit doubtful now.”
“Trust me,” Marston returned confidently.