“It was nothing very much,” said poor Toad, colouring deeply. “I only borrowed a motorcar while the owners were at lunch; they had no need of it at the time. I didn’t mean to steal it, really; but people⁠—especially magistrates⁠—take such harsh views of thoughtless and high-spirited actions.”

The engine-driver looked very grave and said, “I fear that you have been indeed a wicked toad, and by rights I ought to give you up to offended justice. But you are evidently in sore trouble and distress, so I will not desert you. I don’t hold with motorcars, for one thing; and I don’t hold with being ordered about by policemen when I’m on my own engine, for another. And the sight of an animal in tears always makes me feel queer and softhearted. So cheer up, Toad! I’ll do my best, and we may beat them yet!”