For the time being, none of the things which Peewee had been indefinitely expecting happened. His father did not throw him into the lake and watch him drown; he did not lead him into the darkness of the park bushes and murder him. Keeping tight hold of Peewee's hand, as though not assured that the boy would not try to escape him, he led him to Clark Street, where they waited for a street car.
Peewee's imagination suggested to him that his fate was probably deferred. His attention was taken up in assuring himself that the prospect of it did not frighten him, and he stared angrily, awaiting the chance to make his explanation. There appeared no opportunity for doing this. The street car, which was safer for persons who wished to escape inquiry who might
