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diff --git a/27337-h/27337-h.htm b/27337-h/27337-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f34dab7 --- /dev/null +++ b/27337-h/27337-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10808 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of From the Car Behind, by Eleanor M. Ingram</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr {text-align: center; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both; + width:45%; margin-top:2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + img {border: 1px solid black; padding: 6px;} + img.plain {border: none; padding: 0;} + .caption {font-weight: bold; text-align: center;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + + .trnote {background-color: #EEE; color: inherit; margin: 2em 5% 1em 5%; font-size: 80%; + padding: 0.5em 1em 0.5em 1em; border: dotted 1px gray;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right; } + .center {text-align: center;} + .ralign {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .adheadline {text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-size: larger;} + .advert {font-size: smaller; text-align: center; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .lippincott {font-weight: bold;} + .blockquot {font-size: smaller; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .blockquot p {margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em;} + .TOC {position: relative; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; padding-right:5em;} + li {margin-bottom: .3em;} + span.ralign {float: right; position: absolute; right: 0; top: auto;} + span.lalign {float: left; position: relative; left: 0; top: auto;} + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; font-size: smaller; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i0 {margin-left: 0em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, From the Car Behind, by Eleanor M. Ingram, +Illustrated by James Montgomery Flagg</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: From the Car Behind</p> +<p>Author: Eleanor M. Ingram</p> +<p>Release Date: November 27, 2008 [eBook #27337]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM THE CAR BEHIND***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Katie Ward, Suzanne Shell,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figtag"> + <a id="fcover"></a> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img class="plain" src="images/fcover.jpg" alt="Front Cover" title="From the Car Behind by Eleanor M. Ingram" /> +</div> + +<h1>FROM THE CAR<br /> +BEHIND</h1> + +<p class="center" style="margin-bottom: 4em;"><i>SECOND EDITION</i></p> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>ELEANOR M. INGRAM</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: smaller">AUTHOR OF<br /> +"THE FLYING MERCURY," "THE GAME OR THE CANDLE," ETC.</p> + +<p class="center" style="margin-top: 4em;">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR<br /> +BY JAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGG</p> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img class="plain" src="images/i004.png" alt="Pub Stamp" title="Publisher Stamp" /> +</div> + +<p class="center">PHILADELPHIA & LONDON<br /> +J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</p> +<p class="center" style="font-size: smaller">1912</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br /> +COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br /><br /> + +PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY, 1912<br /> +PUBLISHED, FEBRUARY 15, 1912<br /> +SECOND PRINTING FEBRUARY 20, 1912<br /><br /> + +PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY<br /> +AT THE WASHINGTON SQUARE PRESS<br /> +PHILADELPHIA, U.S.A.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center smcap" style="font-size: larger">To My Dear<br /> +and<br /> +Gracious Mother +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h3> + <p class="TOC">CHAPTER<span class="ralign">PAGE</span></p> +<ol class="TOC" style="list-style-type: upper-roman;" > + <li><span class="smcap">The Kid Amateur</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_11">11</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Corrie and his Other Fellow</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The Household of Roses</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Isabel</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_73">73</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The Vase of Al-Mansor</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Wreck</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">"The Greatest of These"</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Aftermath</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The House at the Turn</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Sentence of Error</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Gerard's Man</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The Making Good</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_201">201</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The Titan's Driver</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">Val de Rosas</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The Strength of Ten</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_250">250</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The White Road of Honor</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></span> + </li> + <li><span class="smcap">The End of the Road</span> + <span class="ralign"><a href="#Page_300">300</a></span> + </li> +</ol> + +<hr /> + +<h3><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> + <p class="TOC"> <span class="ralign">PAGE</span></p> +<ul class="TOC" style="list-style-type: none; padding-left: 0;"> + <li><span class="ralign"><a href="#image_001">Frontispiece</a></span> + <span class="smcap">The People Burst Out Over the Course and Overwhelmed the Victors</span> + </li> + <li><span class="ralign"><a href="#image_002">14</a></span> + <span class="smcap">Giddy, She Willingly Suffered His Support, +then Drew Back, Her Color Returning Vividly</span> + </li> + <li><span class="ralign"><a href="#image_003">78</a></span> + <span class="smcap">"Wipe It Off," She Requested Resignedly, "Wipe +It Off and Never Tell"</span> + </li> +</ul> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>I</h2> +<h3>THE KID AMATEUR</h3> + +<p>Gerard paused on the steps of the cement +plateau overlooking the racetrack, his eyebrows +lifting in the wave of humor glinting across his +face like sunlight over quiet water.</p> + +<p>"What?" he wondered. "Who——"</p> + +<p>The grinning mechanician who had just come +across from the row of training-camps opposite +supplied the information.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's Rose's rose. Ain't he awful +tweet?" he mocked.</p> + +<p>Gerard continued to smile, but his clear amber +eyes grew keenly appraising as they followed the +flight of the rose-colored racing car around the +circular track.</p> + +<p>"He can drive," he gave laconic verdict.</p> + +<p>"Sure," assented the mechanician. "But he'll +be the last rose of summer, all right, when the race +comes off. He'll not last twenty-four hours—a +kid amateur. If you ain't coming over, I'll lead +myself back to my job."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You never can tell," warned Gerard, tolerantly. +"No, I'm not coming over, Rupert; run +along."</p> + +<p>He moved over to one of the grand-stand seats, +as he spoke, and sat down, leaning on the rail +with an easy movement of his supple figure. That +was the first characteristic strangers usually noted +in him: an exquisite Hellenic grace of strength +and faultless proportion. He was a man's beauty, +as distinguished from a beauty-man; other men +were given to admiring him extravagantly and unresentfully. +Unresentfully, because of his utter +practicality and matter-of-fact atmosphere.</p> + +<p>The afternoon sunshine glittered goldenly across +the huge, green field and the mile track circling +it, where four racing cars sped in practice contest. +Two of them were painted gray, one was +dingy-white; the fourth shone in delicate pink +enamel touched here and there with silver-gilt. +Its driver and mechanician were clad in pink also, +adding the completing stroke to an effect suggesting +the circus rather than the race track. There +was much excuse for the laughter of the camps, +and that reflection of it lying in Gerard's eyes.</p> + +<p>Yet, the rose-colored machine was well driven. +More than once the watcher nodded in quick approval +of a skilful turn or deft manœuvre. Once he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +rose and changed his position to see more distinctly, +and it was then that he first noticed the girl.</p> + +<p>She was so beautifully and expensively gowned +as to draw even masculine notice of the fact, the +veil that fell from her silk hood to the hem of +her cloak would alone have purchased the motor +costume of the average woman. Against this filmy +drapery her intent face showed as a study in +concentration; her dark-blue eyes wide behind +their black lashes, her soft lips apart, she too +was watching the pink racer. But there was no +laughter in her expression, instead there was the +most deep and earnest tenderness, a blending of +the childish and the maternal that made Gerard +catch his breath and glance enviously at the driver +of the gaudy car.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was almost ended; as Gerard +looked, the pink machine finished its last circuit +and plunged through the paddock entrance, to +come to a halt before its own tent in the "white +city" of training camps. Simultaneously the girl +in the upper rows of seats arose, catching up her +swirl of pale silk and lace garments and hurrying +precipitately down the stairway aisle. So great +was her haste that, coming suddenly to the last +step, one small, high-heeled suède shoe slipped +from the iron edge and flung her violently against<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +a column of the stand. Gerard reached her just +in time to prevent further fall.</p> + +<p>"Stand still," he cautioned, quietly steady. +"There is a second flight of stairs. You are not +hurt, I hope?"</p> + +<p>Giddy, for a moment she willingly suffered his +support, then drew back on the narrow landing, +her color returning vividly.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered. "I am not hurt. I thank +you very much."</p> + +<p>Thick waves of fair hair lay across her forehead +above the delicate dark line of her brows, +her candid regard met his with the dignity of +utter naturalness and a young confidence in the +goodness of all men. The impression Gerard +received was original; he fancied that her home life +must have been singularly happy and innocent, +and that he should like to know her father.</p> + +<p>"You will let me take you down the rest of +the way, at least," he offered, accepting the +situation as simply as she had done.</p> + +<p>She glanced down the stairs with a slight shiver, +still shaken and unnerved.</p> + +<p>"You are very good. My car is beyond the +corner, there. I—I am in haste to reach it."</p> + +<div class="figtag"> + <a id="image_002"></a> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i002.jpg" alt="Gerard and Flavia on the Steps" title="GIDDY, SHE WILLINGLY SUFFERED HIS SUPPORT, THEN DREW BACK, HER COLOR +RETURNING VIVIDLY" /> +<p class="caption">GIDDY, SHE WILLINGLY SUFFERED HIS SUPPORT, THEN DREW BACK, HER COLOR +RETURNING VIVIDLY</p> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>That had been obvious. Yet, as she laid her +gloved hand on Gerard's arm, she lingered to +look again in the direction of the training-camps.</p> + +<p>"The cars will not go out again to-day?" she +inferred, half-questioningly.</p> + +<p>"No, I think not. It is already late. This +way?"</p> + +<p>"Please; to the rear of the club-house."</p> + +<p>They descended to the lower floor and crossed +a strip of sandy ground to where a large foreign-built +touring car waited, empty save for the +chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"I am running away from my brother," the +young girl explained; then, with a playfulness +tinged with pathos, "He is practicing out there. +And it vexes him if I watch him or say I am +afraid for him. He tells me to stay home and +forget it. But sometimes I cannot. To-day I +could not. Thanks to you, I shall escape before +he finds me."</p> + +<p>The "kid amateur's" sister, of course, Gerard +thought, as he put her in the car.</p> + +<p>"Do you always do as he says?" he queried +whimsically. "I have no sister, but I did not +understand that was the rule."</p> + +<p>She turned to him her soft, completely feminine +face, and gleamed into laughter.</p> + +<p>"I am the only passive member of a strong-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>willed +family," she told him. "I am always doing +what some one bids. Thank you, and good-by."</p> + +<p>The margin of safe escape was not great. As +Gerard stepped back on the cement promenade, +the pink machine shot across and came to a halt +near the exit, its driver turning in his seat.</p> + +<p>"Any one going to town?" he called, his imperious +young voice ringing across the open spaces.</p> + +<p>"No," came the discouraging monosyllable from +the official stand.</p> + +<p>"No one?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>The driver slowly sent his car forward, +temper in every crisp movement, his gaze travelling +over the empty tiers of seats, to fall at last +upon Gerard and there rest. With a jerk he +jammed down the brake and leaned from the +machine. Thick fair hair lay across his boyish +forehead above level dark brows, his candid dark-blue +eyes went direct to their goal: the metal +badge fastened to Gerard's lapel and just visible +under the edge of his gray overcoat.</p> + +<p>"You're wearing a chauffeur's license," he +challenged.</p> + +<p>"I surely am. Want to engage a man?" was +the grave response.</p> + +<p>The boy's arch glance swept the other's face,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +so definitely stamped with the habit of mastery.</p> + +<p>"If I did I'd ask you to recommend one," he +retorted mirthfully. "I'm not as much mixed as +I sounded; I wasn't thinking of hiring you. But +I did want to ask if you would ride into the city +with me. My mechanician is busy over there, I +can't find any one else to go with me, and I've +got to get my car down to the Renard shop to-night."</p> + +<p>"Now I wonder," Gerard mused aloud, "why +you want any one with you."</p> + +<p>"Because I won't be eighteen for a month," +he gave prompt explanation. "Under the latest +law freak turned out at Albany, I'm too young +to drive a motor vehicle safely on the public roads +unless I have a licensed chauffeur alongside of me. +Oh, of course you'd laugh!"</p> + +<p>"I was only recalling what I've just been +watching you do on the track," apologized Gerard, +steadying his countenance. "And speculating +upon how the average chauffeur would like to try +your feats. I shall appreciate the honor of riding +into town with Mr. Rose and his rose."</p> + +<p>The driver colored and laughed together, as +his guest took the seat beside him.</p> + +<p>"They're always ragging me—I mean the professional +racers and motor men," he avowed, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> +a burst of resentful confidence. "They called +me kid amateur, and rosebud, and girlie, until I +just had my car painted pink and bought these +pink suits and told them to go ahead getting all +the fun they could. I'll get my turn to-morrow +night." He twisted his car through the curved +gateway, viciously expert.</p> + +<p>"You are planning to win?"</p> + +<p>There was no trace of mockery in the level +intonation of the inquiry, yet Rose flushed again.</p> + +<p>"I want to, and I mean to try," he answered +frankly and soberly. "Of course one can't count +on that sort of thing. I've got a splendid French +machine here. But Allan Gerard is going to race; +I'm afraid of him. Why, he hasn't even been out to +practice! He says he knows the track, they tell +me, and he'll not come down until a couple of +hours before the start. That kind of talk <i>rattles</i> +me—I wish he'd act like other people and not as if +he just meant to drop into the motordrome and +win another cup."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe Gerard intends to pose as +confident," deprecated his companion. "You see, +he has his automobile factory to manage as well +as his racing work; I rather fancy that he didn't +come out to practice because he was busy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose so. It just gets on my nerves;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +I shouldn't wonder if they were a bit raw from +so much chaffing by the professional pilots. We're +the quickest tempered family that ever happened, +anyhow. I'll go off the handle, I know I will, if +those grinning drivers get to gibing at me to-morrow +night——" he broke off, slamming savagely +into a lower gear as he caught a mounted +policeman's eye and endeavored to choke his racing +car's speed down to a reasonable approach to +the legal limit.</p> + +<p>When the desired result was somewhat attained, +Gerard spoke with quiet seriousness.</p> + +<p>"I've seen considerable motor racing, and I've +been watching you this afternoon. With some +really steady training and practice you could undoubtedly +become one of our few fine drivers. You +have the gift."</p> + +<p>Rose caught his breath, his blue eyes flashed to +meet the other man's with dazzled and dazzling +ardor.</p> + +<p>"But—you must not 'go off the handle.' +Never. You must keep your nerve or quit the +track."</p> + +<p>"It isn't nerve, it's temper," amended Rose +honestly.</p> + +<p>Gerard's firm lip bent amusedly, his bronze-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>brown +eyes glinted a fun as purely boyish as could +the other's.</p> + +<p>"That's quite different," he conceded. "Temper +doesn't interfere with driving; on the contrary, +some of the best drivers and most amiable +men I know are very demons when they are racing."</p> + +<p>"Gerard isn't. They say he is the quietest +ever. Of course he's almost twenty-eight and used +to it all."</p> + +<p>The gentleman in question carefully unfastened +his glove.</p> + +<p>"Gerard seems to worry you," he commented.</p> + +<p>"He does. I don't know just why, but he does."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't let him. This is where you leave +your machine?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I can't offer to take you wherever you +are going, because I couldn't get back alone. I'm +awfully obliged to you for coming in with me."</p> + +<p>"Thanks for the ride." Gerard stepped out +and offered his hand with a glance deliberately +friendly. "Good-by; good luck for to-morrow +and next day."</p> + +<p>Rose dragged off his gauntlet and eagerly bent +to give the clasp.</p> + +<p>"Wait—you're not going like that?" he protested. +"I'd like to see you again. You haven't +told me <i>your</i> name."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We will see each other again. That's a safe +prediction, I assure you." He withdrew his hand, +laughing a denial of explanation as he retreated. +"I will tell you my name next time, if you ask +me."</p> + +<p>Already half a dozen people had collected +around the pink racing car. Others were flocking +from every direction, the group forming with a +suddenness truly New Yorkese. Indifferent to all, +Rose sprang out of his seat and ran through the +curious men in pursuit of his late companion.</p> + +<p>"Wait," he urged, overtaking him. "I want +to ask—did you mean that? About my driving +well, some day? I know I'll never get a chance +to do it, but do you mean that I <i>could</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I meant," confirmed Gerard, "just what I +said. I usually do. Good-by."</p> + +<p>The boy remained perfectly still in the midst +of the crowd, standing in his rose-colored costume +and looking after the straight, slender figure swinging +down the street. When Gerard glanced back +in turning the corner, Rose was still watching him.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It was some forty-five hours later that Gerard's +prediction was verified, in the glare-streaked darkness +of the Beach racetrack amid the medley +of sounds from excited crowds, roaring cars, and +noisily busy training camps. Under the swinging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +electric light before the hospital tent, the two +drivers came face to face.</p> + +<p>"Nothing wrong, I hope?" Gerard greeted, +keen eyes sweeping the other.</p> + +<p>A sparkle of animation lit Rose's exhaustion-drawn +face to boyishness.</p> + +<p>"I'm not hurt. I want to tell you that if I'd +known who you were, yesterday, I'd never have +asked you to ride with me," he answered, warmly +impulsive.</p> + +<p>"You'd have let me walk?"</p> + +<p>"I'd have got into the mechanician's seat and +let you <i>drive</i>. Do you suppose I'd have kept the +wheel with you in the car? But what you said +about my driving made it so no one could rattle +me, Mr. Gerard; I am not going out of the race +because of that, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Going out of the race? Why, you're running +in third place!"</p> + +<p>Rose shook his head, his mouth set, holding out +two blistered hands and linen-wound arms.</p> + +<p>"I've given out," he acknowledged bitterly. +"There'll be no finish for my car. I can't hold +my wheel without an hour to rest and get these +into shape. Kid amateur, all right."</p> + +<p>"Where's your alternate driver?"</p> + +<p>"He slipped on a greasy bit of grass, ten<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +minutes ago, and sprained his ankle. We're out of +it, with third place ours and a perfect car to run."</p> + +<p>Gerard looked down the row of illuminated +tents to where the pink car stood, palpitating in +an aura of its own light, and brought his eyes +back to the other man.</p> + +<p>"My machine went out of the race, two hours +ago, with a broken crankshaft. If you like, I'll +be your alternate," he offered.</p> + +<p>Incredulous, breathless, Rose stared at him.</p> + +<p>"You—you mean——"</p> + +<p>"I will drive your car until you are ready +to take it again for the finish. I've nothing else +to do, to-night."</p> + +<p>It was a time and a scene where over-tense +nerves not infrequently snapped. But if Gerard +was not surprised to see it, Rose certainly was +both amazed and humiliated to feel his own eyes +suddenly stinging like a girl's.</p> + +<p>"If ever I can do anything for you," he stammered +fervently.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you the chance," promised Gerard, +tactfully gay. "Now hurry up your men with +the car while I find my mechanician."</p> + +<p>The comrade aid had been given to Rose, without +the least relation to Rose's sister. But nevertheless +Gerard directed a curious look toward the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +teeming grand-stand, as he turned to make ready. +Was she there, he wondered, the flower-like girl +with the name of a flower, who had rested in his +arms just so long as a blossom might flutter +against one in passing? Would her gaze follow +the pink racer, still?</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>II</h2> +<h3>CORRIE AND HIS OTHER FELLOW</h3> + +<p>The touring car rolled slowly through the +October leaves rustling and swirling down the +road in jovial wind-eddies, came up to a knoll +beside the field, and stopped. The driver turned +in his seat to face the two occupants of the +tonneau, pushing his goggles up above the line +of his fair hair.</p> + +<p>"Look," he urged eagerly. "Look at the +pitcher of our home team. There, just crossing +the diamond—it's a new inning."</p> + +<p>"It's not the first baseball game you've brought +us out to see, Corrie," observed Mr. Thomas +Rose, setting his own goggles on his cap above +the line of his reddish-gray hair. "Is it, my +girl?"</p> + +<p>His daughter laughed, shaking her small head +in its crimson hood and glancing roguishly at her +brother.</p> + +<p>"Nor the twenty-first, papa," she amplified.</p> + +<p>"Well, but I haven't brought you to see the +game, but the pitcher," the boy protested. "He's +a new one; you never saw him before. Look."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I want you to."</p> + +<p>Flavia Rose obediently turned her gaze toward +the players, and upon the indicated man it halted, +arrested.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she exclaimed under her breath, and +sat still.</p> + +<p>The men were in their places, alert in poised +expectation, the attention of the whole field concentrating +upon the central figure of the pitcher +at whom the young girl also looked. A slim, +straight statue he stood during a full moment, +then slowly raised his arms above his head in a +gesture of supple grace and ease. The afternoon +sun struck across his wind-ruffled brown hair and +smiling face, as he gave a brief nod to the catcher +and dropped his arm with a lithe, swift movement +and turn of his whole body. The white ball shot +across, swerving almost at the plate, and crashed +into the catcher's mitt.</p> + +<p>"He's got speed!" Mr. Rose approved loudly, +standing up in the car. "That's pitching! Who's +your friend, Corwin B.?"</p> + +<p>His son did not answer. The ball was back in +the pitcher's hands; again he was lifting his arms +in the pose his physical beauty made classic. +There was repeated the quick nod, the abruptly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +swift movement, and the ball sped across, dropping +oddly.</p> + +<p>"Strike two!" was called.</p> + +<p>Amid the applause and shouts of encouragement, +Flavia laid her small, urgent hand on her +brother's sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Corrie, who is he? Tell us, please."</p> + +<p>He moved to see her more directly.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the Beach twenty-four-hour +race, last summer, where I finished third? Do you +remember how I told you about the big driver, +Allan Gerard, who drove my machine for two +hours until I could hold the wheel again myself?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"Strike three—you're out!" rang the umpire's +announcement; again the joyous shouts interrupted +speech.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, that's who."</p> + +<p>"That's Gerard, playing ball?" interrogated +Mr. Rose, incredulous. "What for? Lost his +racing job?"</p> + +<p>Laughing, Corrie shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No, sir! Gerard is a member of the Mercury +automobile company and has their western factory +and all that end of the business in his hands. He +races the Mercury car because he loves the work +and because no one else can do it so well. No;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +practice for the Cup race opens to-morrow, and +he's here on Long Island for that. But the pitcher +of our home team put his arm out of business +yesterday, and Gerard offered to pitch for this +game. He knows everybody here—he always +knows everybody everywhere, he's that kind. And +I want to ask him to dinner," he concluded +irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose scanned the field for a flying ball, as +a sharp crack announced the first hit.</p> + +<p>"Staying out here, or going in to the city each +day?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>"He's staying in Jamaica, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then you'd best ask him to stop at your house +until the race comes off, or he'll wreck his machine +from weakness brought on by starvation," pronounced +Mr. Rose, dryly. "One dinner won't +carry him through weeks. I know those hotels, +myself."</p> + +<p>Corrie gasped, his face swept by delighted awe.</p> + +<p>"Really? Oh, I'd give anything to have +Gerard, <i>Gerard</i>, like that! Do you think he'll +come?"</p> + +<p>"If he had dinner at his hotel last night, and +breakfast and lunch to-day, he'll come," his father +assured. "Now be quiet and let me watch the +game; it must be near ending."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Almost, but——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the <i>but</i>, Corwin B. Keep cool."</p> + +<p>But Corrie could not keep cool. When his +father's attention was engaged he slipped down +from his seat and went around to Flavia's side +of the car.</p> + +<p>"Do you think he would come?" he asked, for +her ears alone. "Don't you want him, too? Why +are you so serious—what <i>do</i> you think?"</p> + +<p>Their clear violet-blue eyes met in the intimate +household love and understanding of all their lives. +Flavia dropped a caressing arm around her +brother's shoulders, gently drawing him to face +the field.</p> + +<p>"Really look," she bade.</p> + +<p>Puzzled, he obeyed. Gerard was still occupying +the centre of the diamond, holding the ball aloft +while his meditative gaze apparently dwelt on the +batsman. There was scarcely a perceptible turn +of his brown head, yet as the two in the car +watched, the impromptu pitcher's glance flashed +from behind his uplifted arm and he whirled in a +half-circle to hurl the unexpected ball straight +across the diamond to where a careless enemy had +ventured from second base. Too late the startled +runner saw; the sudden attack won.</p> + +<p>"You're out!" pealed the quick decision. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +game was closed. With the gay uproar of local +triumph Mr. Rose mingled his approving applause, +still standing upright in the car to view the scene.</p> + +<p>"Well, of what are you thinking?" Corrie repeated. +"He's splendid, I know that."</p> + +<p>"I am thinking of Isabel," Flavia answered +quietly, "and of you. If you take Mr. Gerard +home, she will see a great deal of him."</p> + +<p>Astonished, he regarded her. After a moment +he again looked toward the man opposite, his expression +sober.</p> + +<p>"It's like you to think of me," he acknowledged, +with slow gratitude. "But that's all right. If +any one else can get her, I'd better know it now. +Of course he'll want her, she's just the kind of +girl he'd like, such a sport herself about cars and +things. If she likes him better than me, why I'll +have to stand it, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Then, I shall be very glad to have Mr. Gerard +stay with us, dear; don't you and I always like +the same things?"</p> + +<p>"We sure do, Other Fellow?"</p> + +<p>The childhood "play name" brought their +cordial glances together, as Mr. Rose dropped +into his seat.</p> + +<p>"Game's over, Corwin B.; better run get your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> +friend," he notified, cheerily imperious. "Hurry +along."</p> + +<p>Half-smiling, half-anxious, Corrie lingered on +the verge of compliance.</p> + +<p>"I—I feel a chill at the idea," he avowed. "I +believe, after all, I'm shy of Gerard!"</p> + +<p>"Now what's the matter?" Mr. Rose ejaculated, +staring after his son. "Shy; and I've been trying +ever since he was born—without succeeding—to +teach him that there were one or two people +on earth bigger than he is."</p> + +<p>"Papa!"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it so, then?"</p> + +<p>She laughed with him, mutinously unanswering.</p> + +<p>Whatever diffidence Corrie had felt promptly +vanished when Gerard turned from the group of +players and met him. Flushed with vigorous +exercise and recent conquest, his smiling eyes +warming to recognition as they fell upon the +breathless young motorist, there certainly was +nothing intimidating in the late pitcher's aspect.</p> + +<p>"I'm Corrie Rose—you haven't forgotten? +Come meet my father and sister, won't you?" was +Corrie's eager greeting.</p> + +<p>It was not at all the dignified self-introduction +and invitation he had planned as he ran across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +the field, but Gerard had the gift of drawing sincerity +to meet his own, like to like.</p> + +<p>"You haven't forgotten me," countered the +other, giving his hand. "And I should be delighted +to meet your father and Miss Rose, if I +were fit. Perhaps you'll give me another chance."</p> + +<p>"Fit? Why, we've been watching you play +ball! A fellow don't play ball in a frock coat. +We want you to come home to dinner, now, and +stay with us over the race. You know I'm practising +for it, too. Don't say no," as Gerard +moved. "We <i>want</i> you."</p> + +<p>The impulsive, italicized speech was very compelling.</p> + +<p>"Thank you; I'll come over to your car, anyway," +Gerard accepted. "But——What is +it, Rupert?"</p> + +<p>"I guess you'd call it a raincoat," was the +drawled reply. "I'd feel bad to find you'd brought +out your pajamas, for there ain't anything to do +except wear it, now."</p> + +<p>"I'm not cold."</p> + +<p>The mechanician nodded a brief return to Corrie's +laughing salute, and directed his sardonic +black eyes to Gerard's right arm, which the rolled-back +sleeve left bare to the elbow.</p> + +<p>"I ain't specially timid," he submitted. "If<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +rheumatism is part of the racing equipment you +like to have with you, I'll just hurry home and +make my will before we start."</p> + +<p>With an impatient shrug Gerard slipped into +the garment.</p> + +<p>"Thanks; you're worse than a wife. Rose, +you know Jack Rupert, who's sheer nerve when +we're racing and sheer nerves when we're not."</p> + +<p>"I surely do," Corrie warmly confirmed. "You +rode with Mr. Gerard at the Beach when he drove +my car for me. I'm not likely to forget <i>that</i>."</p> + +<p>The small, malignly intelligent mechanician +contemplated him, unsmiling, although far from +unfriendly.</p> + +<p>"I ride with Gerard," he acquiesced.</p> + +<p>And only Gerard himself knew the history of +service in the face of death comprehended in the +simple statement.</p> + +<p>Thomas Rose, repeatedly millionaire and genially +absolute dictator in his circle of affairs, was +not easy to gainsay. And he chose to assume +prompt possession of Gerard, almost before the +introduction was over.</p> + +<p>"Get right in," he commanded. "Never mind +anything, get in; and we'll talk about keeping +you after we've had dinner. We'll stop at your +hotel for your things, if you want them."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You're very good," Gerard began, and +stopped, encountering Flavia's eyes. Neither had +spoken of their former meeting, indeed they had +been given no opportunity for speech, yet the acute +recollection was a bond between them.</p> + +<p>"We do not wish to be insistent, Mr. Gerard," +she said now, in her fresh, soft tones. "But we +should be very glad to have you."</p> + +<p>Gerard continued to look at her, gravely attentive +as she herself. She was as exquisitely dressed +as when he had caught her in his arms on the +stairs of the Beach grand-stand, the fragile hand +she laid on the car door carried the vivid flash of +jewels. Somehow he divined that her father exacted +this, that in his pride of self-made millionaire +he would insist upon extravagance as other +men might upon economy. And she would yield. +He remembered her playful speech at their first +meeting: "I am the only passive member of a +strong-willed family." His impression was of her +most feminine softness that was not in the least weak.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he answered. "I should have +liked above all things to be your guest. But it +happens that I have brought my mechanician with +me and that I cannot desert him at the hotel. It +does not matter at all about relative social position; +we are down here together. Moreover, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +have a ninety Mercury racing machine to look +after, and I should be a most unrestful visitor, up +at dawn and out until dark."</p> + +<p>"If that's all," decided Mr. Rose, "this is a +seven-passenger car and an architect said my +house had ninety-five rooms. There's standing +room in the garage, I guess, for a car or two. +Corrie, turn loose your horn."</p> + +<p>Corrie promptly put his finger on the button +of the electric signal, and a raucous wail shattered +the sunset hush.</p> + +<p>"That's your man, looking this way? I like +your sticking to him, Gerard. Here he comes. +We're all fixed, then; get in."</p> + +<p>Gerard got in, beside Flavia, who laughingly +drew her velvet skirts to give him place.</p> + +<p>"I think this bears a perilous resemblance to +a kidnapping," she doubted. "Is it quite safe, I +wonder? Shall you summon rescue when we reach +a populated place?"</p> + +<p>"If kidnapping means being taken against one's +will, I haven't any case," he returned as seriously. +"I don't believe I could be dislodged from here, +now, if you tried."</p> + +<p>"I had not contemplated the attempt—yet."</p> + +<p>"Please do not! I look like a tramp, I know, +but I will be exceedingly good."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not immoderately good; we are a frivolous +family," she deprecated.</p> + +<p>They looked at each other, and their eyes +laughed together.</p> + +<p>Radiant, Corrie was already behind the steering-wheel, +an impatient hand poised to release the +brake.</p> + +<p>"Beside me, Rupert," he blithely invited, when +the mechanician came up.</p> + +<p>Rupert looked at Gerard, received his gesture +of corroboration, and lifting his cap to Flavia, +took the designated seat without comment.</p> + +<p>"Don't you care where you're going?" presently +demanded Corrie, moving up a speed. He +respected Allan Gerard's little mechanician almost +as much as he did Allan Gerard, knowing his reputation +in racing circles; the glance he gave to +accompany the query was an invitation to friendship.</p> + +<p>Rupert braced one small tan shoe against the +floor, as the car wrenched itself out of a tenacious +sand rut.</p> + +<p>"I ain't worrying," he kindly assured. "Any +place that ain't New York is off the map, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"I thought you belonged out west with Mr. +Gerard."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I guess I belong to the Mercury racer. But +I'm officially chief tester at the eastern factory, +up the Hudson, except when there's a race on. +Since Darling French got married, I've raced with +Gerard. Were you aiming to collect that horseshoe +with a nail in it, ahead there on the course, +or will it be an accident?"</p> + +<p>"It's going to be an escape," smiled the driver, +swerving deftly. "Tell me about the first part +of the ball game, won't you? I missed it, going +after my father and sister."</p> + +<p>"Who, me? I ain't qualified. The curves I'm +used to judging belong to a different game. I +guess, if you listen to what's being said behind us, +you'll get the better record. I'm enjoying the +novelty of the automobile ride, myself."</p> + +<p>"You must be," Corrie agreed ironically. +"You get so little of it. They are not talking +<i>real</i> ball."</p> + +<p>But he settled back to listen. In fact, it was +the recent game that was being discussed in the +tonneau, with Mr. Rose as chief speaker and Flavia +as auditor. The party was of enchanting congeniality.</p> + +<p>They drove first to the hotel where Gerard had +been stopping.</p> + +<p>It was quite six o'clock when the touring car<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +rolled through Mr. Rose's lawns and landscape-garden +scenery, to come to a stop before the large, +pink stone house of many columns. Mr. Rose had +a passion for columns. Across the rug-strewn +veranda a girl advanced to meet the arriving +motorists; an auburn-haired, high-colored girl +who wore a tweed ulster over her light evening +gown.</p> + +<p>"I thought you were never coming," she reproached, +imperiously aggrieved. "I hate waiting. +And I want uncle to send Lenoir after my +runabout——"</p> + +<p>The sentence broke as she saw the man beside +Flavia, her gray eyes widened in astonished interest.</p> + +<p>"My niece Isabel Rose, Mr. Gerard," presented +Mr. Rose. "And now you have met all of us. +Come on, Corwin B."</p> + +<p>Isabel Rose gave her hand to the guest. She +had the slightly hard beauty of nineteen years +and exuberant health; contrasted with Flavia, +there was almost a boyishness in her air of assurance +and athletic vigor. But in the studied coquetry +of her glance at Gerard, the instant desire +to allure in response to the allure of this man's +good looks, she showed femininity of a type that +her cousin never would understand.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I should not have minded waiting," she declared, +in her high-pitched, clear-cut speech, "if +I had known something pleasant was going to +happen."</p> + +<p>"If that means me, Miss Rose——" Gerard +laughingly doubted.</p> + +<p>"I don't see anyone else who happens; the rest +of them are just always here," she confirmed, +shrugging her shoulders.</p> + +<p>He regarded her with the gay indulgence one +shows an agreeable child. "Then, all thanks for +the welcome. I shall try to live up to it, if you +will not expect too much."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I shall!"</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps I had better retreat at once?"</p> + +<p>"You might try, first. Don't you think so, +Flavia?"</p> + +<p>"I think we might go in," Flavia smilingly +suggested from the threshold. "We could assume +Mr. Gerard's safety so far."</p> + +<p>"Come on, Corwin B.," his father summoned +again.</p> + +<p>But Corrie sat still in his place, leaning on his +steering-wheel and gazing curiously at his cousin +and Gerard. Nor did he follow the group into +the house; instead, he took the car and Jack +Rupert around to the garage.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>A little later, when Flavia Rose went upstairs +to make ready for dinner, Isabel followed her, +frankly inquisitive.</p> + +<p>"Is this Mr. Gerard the real Gerard, the Gerard +who races cars?" the examination commenced, as +soon as the cousins were alone.</p> + +<p>"He is Allan Gerard," Flavia stated. "Did +you have a nice game, this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>The distraction was put aside.</p> + +<p>"Oh, pretty fair. I walked home across the +links and left the runabout at the club. Did you +ever meet Mr. Gerard before? You seem to know +each other pretty well."</p> + +<p>Flavia's delicate color flushed over her face; for +an instant she again felt Gerard's firm arm around +her and encountered his concerned eyes bent upon +her own, as they stood on the stairs of the grand-stand. +Truthfulness was the atmosphere of the +household, the truthfulness born of fearless affection +and cordial sympathy of feeling, but now +she used an evasion, almost for the first time in +her life.</p> + +<p>"It is Corrie who knows Mr. Gerard, Isabel," +she explained, a trifle slowly. "You remember +that race when he helped Corrie, last summer? +To-day Corrie saw him playing ball, and brought +him to meet us."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! Yes, I remember the race, of course; +I was there. But I did not know Allan Gerard +was—well, <i>looked</i> like that. How long will he +be here?"</p> + +<p>"Papa and Corrie asked him to stay until the +Cup race is over."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Isabel walked over to one +of the long mirrors and studied her own vigorously +handsome image, then turned her head and +regarded Flavia with the perfect complacency and +mischievous malice of a young kitten.</p> + +<p>"Good sport," she anticipated.</p> + +<p>Flavia carefully laid her brush upon the +dressing table and proceeded to gather into a coil +the shimmering mass of her fair hair. Suddenly +she was afraid, quiveringly afraid of herself, of +Gerard and the next two weeks, but most afraid +of showing any change in expression to Isabel's +sharp scrutiny.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>III</h2> +<h3>THE HOUSEHOLD OF ROSES</h3> + +<p>"If there is one thing meaner than another, +it's <i>rain</i>," Corrie announced generally. "I'm +going out. Won't you come, Gerard?"</p> + +<p>"If rain is the meanest thing there is, it shows +real sense to go out in it," Isabel commented, +from the window-seat opposite. "That is just +like you, Corrie Rose. When I ask you to take me +out on a perfectly fair day, you won't do it."</p> + +<p>"I?" stunned. "I ever refused——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yesterday, when I asked you to take +me just once around the race course, while the +cars were out practising. You know you would +not. If it is safe for you, it is safe for me. But +never mind; your old pink car won't win, anyhow. +He hasn't a chance with the professional drivers, +has he, Mr. Gerard?"</p> + +<p>"A chance?" Gerard gravely echoed. "Why, +several of our best drivers are thinking of withdrawing, +since he is entered, because they feel it's +no use trying to win if he is racing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you're making fun! But I mean it; <i>I</i> +could race that car he is so vain of, with my own +little runabout machine."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>Corrie dragged a mandolin from beneath his +chair and tinkled the opening chords of a popular +melody.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"> "Get on your little girl's racer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And I'll lead you for a chaser,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Down the good old Long Island course.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And before you're half through it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Your poor car will rue it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And you'll trade in the pieces for a horse."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The provoking improvisation ended abruptly, as +Isabel's well-aimed sofa-pillow struck the singer.</p> + +<p>"Do you call that a ladylike retort?" Corrie +queried, freeing himself from the silken missile. +"Tell her it isn't, Flavia."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," Flavia excused herself. "There +are more cushions on that window-seat."</p> + +<p>"It was a soft answer, at least," Gerard +laughed. "And a good shot."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I taught her to pitch, myself. Now I'm +sorry," deplored her cousin.</p> + +<p>"Too late," Isabel returned complacently. "I +called that a cushion carom, Corrie. And my car +would not fall to pieces. Flavia, he is feeding +candy to Firdousi."</p> + +<p>Flavia looked over with the warm brightening +of expression Allan Gerard had learned to watch +for when she regarded her brother, and which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +never failed to stir in him the half-wistful envy +of the first day when he had seen her so gazing +at the driver of the pink racing car.</p> + +<p>"If Corrie can teach a Persian kitten to eat +candy, he probably can teach it to digest candy," +she offered serene reply. "Besides, he loves +Firdousi, as much as I do."</p> + +<p>"I only gave him some fruit-paste to see his +jaws work," the culprit defended. "He needs exercise. +And so do I."</p> + +<p>"Not that kind, yours work all the time. It +is only an hour since breakfast and you have +talked ever since," corrected his cousin.</p> + +<p>"I haven't!"</p> + +<p>"You have."</p> + +<p>Corrie ran his fingers through his heavy fair +hair, carefully set the purring kitten on the floor, +and stood up.</p> + +<p>"All right, if you say so," he submitted gracefully. +"What you say, I stand for."</p> + +<p>The argument was pure sport, of course. But +with that last playful sentence, Corrie suddenly +turned his dark-blue eyes upon Isabel with an +expression not playful, as if himself struck by +some deeper force in the words.</p> + +<p>"What you say, I stand for," he repeated, and +paused.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<p>Flavia and Gerard both looked at him. All the +fresh ardor of first love, all the impulsive faith +of eighteen and its entire devotion invested Corrie +Rose and illumined the shining regard in which +he enveloped his cousin. There was in him a +quality that lifted the moment above mere sentimentality, +a young strength and straightforward +earnestness at once dignified and pathetic with the +pathos of all transient things that must go down +before the battery of the years.</p> + +<p>It would have been difficult to encounter a more +enchanting family life than that into which Allan +Gerard had been drawn. The Rose household was +as redolent of simple fragrance as a household of +roses, in spite of its costly luxury, its retinue of +servants and lavish expenditure. Thomas Rose's +wealth had been made so long since, before the +birth of the younger generation, that to one and +all it was merely the natural condition of affairs, +not in the least affecting them personally. Money +was very nearly non-existent to them, since they +never were obliged to consider its lack or abundance. +They spent as they desired, precisely as +they ate when hungry or drank according to thirst, +without either stint or excess. It was Arcadian, +it was improbable, but it was so. And the guard-wall +that encircled their gilded Arcadia was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +strong mutual affection not to be overthrown from +without. Only by internal treason could that domain +fall.</p> + +<p>It was not in one day that Gerard had come to +understand this in its fullness; he had learned +bit by bit. For there was nothing at all angelic +about the gay family. But now he first realized, +as he watched Corrie, that Isabel Rose was placed +here by circumstance and not by fittedness. She +was too earthen a vessel, however handsome and +wholesome, to contain that fine sun-shot essence +distilled from the fountain of youth which her +cousin poured out for her taking. Gerard knew +it, as he saw her matter-of-fact acceptance of the +gaze that should have moved even a woman who +did not love Corrie.</p> + +<p>Yet, they would probably marry one another, +he reflected. There was nothing to interfere, if +she consented. He felt an elder brother's outrush +of impatient protection for the boy; involuntarily +he turned to Flavia with a movement of +regretful irritation at the folly of it all, a folly +he divined that she also recognized.</p> + +<p>Flavia met his glance, and read its impatience +and regret. How she applied it was a reflection +less of her own mind than of Isabel's; she fancied +Gerard jealous of this open wooing of the other +girl, and mutely asking her own intervention.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> + +<p>That intervention was not easy to give. In +spite of herself, the days with Allan Gerard had +affected her so far. Stooping, she lifted Firdousi +to her lap, gaining a moment before breaking the +silence that had fallen upon the group.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going to take Mr. Gerard, +Corrie?" she inquired. "Are not the possibilities +storm-limited?"</p> + +<p>"He isn't going to take him anywhere," Isabel +calmly interpolated. "They are going to stay in +and amuse us. At least, that is what I say, if he +is going to stand for it. He said he would, but +it's some large order."</p> + +<p>Corrie threw back his head, all seriousness +vanishing before his laughter.</p> + +<p>"Just you let father catch you slinging Boweryese +like that, Miss Rose," he begged, moving +aside to stuff a handful of candy into either coat-pocket. +"He loves to hear girls talk slang. But +it <i>is</i> some classy order, all right, if you come to +think of it; I guess I won't commence to-day. I'm +going over to show the <i>Dear Me</i> to Jack Rupert, +Flavia; he thinks he can tell me why her engine +misses."</p> + +<p>"In the rain, dear?" his sister wondered.</p> + +<p>"'Snips and snails and gasoline tales, are +what little boys are made of,'" Isabel quoted derisive +<i>Mother Goose</i>. "He won't melt; let him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +go. Mr. Gerard, you do not want to go out in a +sloppy motor boat, do you?"</p> + +<p>"If you will forgive my bad taste, I believe I +shall go with Corrie," Gerard deprecated, rising. +He looked again at Flavia, but she offered no suggestion +that he stay.</p> + +<p>"That's the idea," approved the gentleman in +question. "I'll ring for our raincoats."</p> + +<p>There was a period of silence in the many-windowed, +octagonal library, after the two young +girls were left alone. Flavia continued to play +with the drowsy kitten. Isabel, chin in hand, gazed +across the rain-drenched window-panes, her full +lips bent discontentedly. The first diversion was +effected by the smart slap of a maple-leaf flattened +against the glass by a gust of wind, directly across +the watcher's line of vision.</p> + +<p>"P.P.C.," interpreted Flavia, surveying the +large pale-golden leaf, as it adhered to the wet +pane opposite her cousin.</p> + +<p>"Now, what may that mean?" Isabel demanded.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pour prendre congé</i>, of course. Those are +the farewell cards of departing summer. See her +coat-of-arms on it: a gold-and-crimson sunset?"</p> + +<p>Isabel eyed her companion with scornful superiority.</p> + +<p>"You had better talk sense," she counselled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +"That is a good stiff north wind blowing, and +Corrie is just as reckless with his motor boat as +he is with his car. He and Mr. Gerard are likely +to be half-drowned—and I am glad of it."</p> + +<p>"Isa!"</p> + +<p>"I am glad. It serves them right for leaving +me at home and going off with that mechanic. I +know why Corrie did it, too; he didn't want us to +be together all day. He is jealous of Mr. Gerard +because he likes me."</p> + +<p>"Corrie does?"</p> + +<p>Isabel launched a glance of malicious comprehension +over her shoulder, smilingly meaningly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Corrie! Of course! But I meant Mr. +Gerard. Anyone can see how Corrie hates to have +him with me."</p> + +<p>Flavia adjusted the blue-satin bow upon +Firdousi's neck, saying nothing for a moment. +She did not intend to put the question hovering +at her lips, yet suddenly the indiscreet words +escaped her:</p> + +<p>"Then, you think Mr. Gerard is—interested +in you?"</p> + +<p>"Did you ever know a man to come here without +being interested in me, Flavia Rose?"</p> + +<p>The superb arrogance was a trifle too much to +escape retort, even from the considerate Flavia.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, there was Mr. Stone," she recalled, with +intention.</p> + +<p>Isabel colored richly, her handsome light-gray +eyes hardened. The recent episode of Mr. Ethan +Stone had not been one of her triumphs in flirtation.</p> + +<p>"He was almost as old as uncle," she exclaimed +sharply. "He would have died of fright at the +things Mr. Gerard and Corrie and I like to do, +anyway, if he had stayed here. He was all nerves. +So are you, for that matter. You are worried +over Corrie now, you know you are."</p> + +<p>Flavia never quarrelled; she had an abhorrence +of scenes. But that did not imply a lack of +capacity for anger. She rose, a straight, slim +figure in her blue morning-frock, the kitten in her +arms.</p> + +<p>"If I were with him, I should not be worried," +she stated with dignity. "I am never afraid when +I am there to share what happens. I think I will +go upstairs."</p> + +<p>And she went, leaving the other girl to devise +her own amusements.</p> + +<p>In her own room, Flavia pushed aside the window-curtains +to look out. In all the dripping +landscape she saw no trace of her brother or their +guest; the guest, half of whose visit was now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +past. The next day would be Sunday; one of the +two weeks she had unreasoningly dreaded was +gone, already. Was she glad, or sorry? She +did not know. But she continued to look from +the window; there was indeed a strong north wind +blowing, and Corrie, if not reckless, certainly used +the least margin of safety.</p> + +<p>It was impossible to be more safe from drowning +than Corrie was at that time. He was in fact +on land as dry as the weather permitted, engaged +in operating a small ciderpress for the benefit of +himself and Gerard, at a certain old-fashioned +farm where he was—as he himself explained—persona +very grata indeed.</p> + +<p>"They are used to me," he supplemented. +"Wonderful what people can get used to, isn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"It surely is," Gerard agreed, from his seat +on an overturned barrel. He contemplated interestedly +the picture Corrie presented with his +sleeves rolled to the elbow, his coat off and his +bright hair flecked with ruby-hued drops of the +flying liquid. "See here, Corrie, what are you +planning to do with yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Do? Meet Rupert and try out the <i>Dear Me</i>, +of course. Why?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that way. College? Business?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh! Would you pitch over that tin-cup, +please? Why, I am all through college."</p> + +<p>"Through it! Before you are nineteen?"</p> + +<p>"Jes' so. Like to see the pretty blue-ribboned +papers that prove it?" He sat down on the +press, drying his face with his handkerchief. "You +see, my father had tutors to lavish all their wisdom +and attention on little Corwin B. Rose, and I +never had to wait while the rest of a class ploughed +along, so I got through the usual junk and was +ready for college at fifteen plus. So I entered +at New York, where I could drive back and forth +from home each day, and finished up the college +business. It was a nuisance and I wanted to get +it over, so I hustled a bit. The classical course, +you know, not the professional. I graduated last +Spring, just before I met you at the twenty-four-hour +race. You look surprised."</p> + +<p>"I should not have thought it of you."</p> + +<p>"You didn't suppose I could work?" The +mischievous blue eyes laughed at him. "I can, +when I have to. And studying doesn't hit me +very hard, although I'd rather be out-doors."</p> + +<p>"Not that, exactly. You do not look it," +Gerard said slowly. He could not explain the +effects he had seen left by college life with unlimited +money at command, or how he was moved +by their utter absence here.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>Corrie gave way to open mirth.</p> + +<p>"What a compliment! My word! Fancy! +Well, I can't help my face. Anyway, you think +I look as if I could drive a car, so I'm satisfied. +Do you know," his expression sobered as he leaned +forward, fixing earnest eyes on his companion's, +"I would rather be you, do what you are doing, +than be or do anything else in the world. Of +course, I shan't get the chance—probably I +couldn't do the work if I did—but I should <i>love</i> +it."</p> + +<p>Gerard actually colored before that ardent admiration, +taken unaware.</p> + +<p>"Corrie Rose, you are given to the folly of +hero-worship; and heroes are few," he accused +sternly.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that, Mr. Gerard."</p> + +<p>"I do. But, Corrie——"</p> + +<p>"Present."</p> + +<p>Gerard stood up, reaching for his raincoat.</p> + +<p>"Beware of heroine-worship, it is <i>the</i> folly. +When you find the real woman, get on your knees, +where you belong, before a grace of God, but don't +build shrines to an imitation."</p> + +<p>Astonished, Corrie paused, upright beside the +ciderpress, then smiled with a blending of pride +and serious exaltation.</p> + +<p>"No danger of that! I—that can never hap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>pen +to me," he assured quietly. "I am safe-guarded +from imitations, win or lose. I believe, +if I am given to hero-worship, that I'm pretty +good at picking the right subjects for it. Had +enough cider?"</p> + +<p>"Too much, probably. If I am ill to-morrow, +I shall tell Rupert that you poisoned me. Are +you going around to pay the lord proprietors of +the place for what we have consumed?"</p> + +<p>"Who, me? If I did, Mrs. Goodwin might +box my ears for the impertinence; she has boxed +them before. I grew up around here, remember. +The first acquaintance I made with this house was +when I shied an apple at the family tabby as it +sat sunning itself on the well-curb, and bowled it +in. Naturally, I hadn't meant to hit it; the +beast stepped forward just as I fired. I nearly +fell in, myself, trying to get it out, but the well +was deep and I couldn't raise a meow or a whisker. +It was a fine November Sunday, I remember, and +while I was busy the family drove into the yard, +home from church. I bolted. No one saw me go, +but by and by I began to remember all the yarns +I ever had heard about people getting typhoid +fever from polluted well-water, and to imagine +that entire household dying on my hands. Remorse +with a capital R! I felt like Cesare Borgia<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +and Madame de Brinvilliers and the Veiled +Mokanna all rolled into one. When I couldn't +stand it any longer, I sneaked into Flavia's room +at two o'clock in the morning, for counsel."</p> + +<p>"She gave it?"</p> + +<p>"She gave it. You can always count on Flavia. +I can see her now, sitting up in bed with her +hair braided in two big yellow plaits and her +troubled kiddie countenance turned to me.</p> + +<p>"'You will have to tell either papa or those +people,' she decided, wise as a toy owl. 'And +if you tell them, <i>they</i> will surely tell papa, so perhaps +you would rather tell him yourself. But I +am sorry, dear darling.'</p> + +<p>"So I 'fessed up, after breakfast."</p> + +<p>"What happened?" Gerard questioned.</p> + +<p>"We drove over to the farm together, and +father went in for a private interview with old +man Goodwin. After which he, father, escorted +me around to the well and informed me that I was +to drink a cup of that water. Phew, I would +rather have drunk hemlock! I wasn't much given +to begging off when I got into trouble, but I tried +that time, all right.</p> + +<p>"'It's what you've left these folks to drink,' +said he, standing with his hands in his pockets, +looking at me. 'It would have been a lot more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +pleasant for you to swallow if you had owned up +two days ago; just keep that as a reminder never +to put off a thing you ought to do. Take your +medicine, Corwin B.'</p> + +<p>"I took it. But it almost killed me." He shook +his blond head disgustedly. "I told him I would +probably die of typhoid, or something worse. He +said we would chance it."</p> + +<p>"Still, it was a chance, Corrie."</p> + +<p>Corrie calmly fastened the last button of his +raincoat.</p> + +<p>"No, I guess not. You see, old Goodwin had +told father that they pulled pussy out of the well +ten minutes after I ran away, the first day. She +was clinging to the bucket, pretty wet, but healthy +and merry. Father told me the truth, before dinner-time; +I didn't seem to care for luncheon, that +day. Have you got a pencil? I've lost my fountain-pen +again; that's the third I've bought this +month."</p> + +<p>Gerard produced the pencil.</p> + +<p>"It was a rough joke on you, though," he commented. +"Didn't you resent it?"</p> + +<p>Corrie lifted his bright clear glance from his +task of tearing a blank leaf from his notebook.</p> + +<p>"Hadn't I earned it?" he asked. "Keep the +lines straight, Gerard; my father never punished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +me in anger, nor unless I could first admit I deserved +it and we could shake hands on it afterward. +Of course, that sort of thing ended five +years ago—there never was much of it—but there +couldn't be closer friends than we have been, right +through. We have kept each other's respect, we +couldn't get along without it; and we expect a +good deal of each other, too. I just don't want +you to misunderstand."</p> + +<p>He scribbled his signature across the bit of +paper, and secured the legend to the ciderpress.</p> + +<p>"There; now the Goodwins will know who has +been here. Ready?"</p> + +<p>"Ready," Gerard assented.</p> + +<p>The rain had ceased; the vigorous broom of the +north wind was sweeping the broken storm-clouds +across a gray sky. The drive to the yacht club +was accomplished pleasantly and quickly.</p> + +<p>"I told Rupert to meet us here at noon," Corrie +observed, when they stopped at the pier. "And +I had lunch for three sent over, this morning. +What a deserted old hole the club is in October! +Hello, what——"</p> + +<p>From beneath the tarpaulin cover of a long, +polished motor boat moored in the wall-locked +artificial harbor, a frowsy head had projected, to +be instantly withdrawn into shelter at sight of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +two young men. The genus of that head was +unmistakable, the action significant. Both arrivals +halted involuntarily.</p> + +<p>"Club steward?" inquired Gerard, with irony.</p> + +<p>"Tramp!" flared his companion, recovering +breath after the first shock of amazement at the +audacity of the intruder. "A dirty, lazy hobo +in my boat! Lying on my cushions, mauling my +things, running my engine for all I know. Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Hold on," Gerard advised. "Better investigate."</p> + +<p>But Corrie was already at the edge of the pier.</p> + +<p>"Come out of there!" he shouted imperiously. +"Come out, I say, or I'll come aboard and throw +you out. What do you mean by it? Come out, I +tell you."</p> + +<p>The head slowly emerged, a red head in need of +combing; its owner rested his arms on the gleaming +mahogany deck and turned a sullen, unshaven +face on his challenger.</p> + +<p>"Stand me a quarter, an' I'll beat it," he invited +raucously.</p> + +<p>"A quarter! You'll beat it without a cent and +do it quick, or go to jail. That is my boat, do +you hear? Come out. What are you doing there? +Stealing?"</p> + +<p>"Sleepin', if you want to know."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've got a right to know. Are you going to +take your filthy self off my cushions, or am I +going to throw you off?"</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>me</i>. Who do you think?"</p> + +<p>The man measured his young antagonist with +unhurried scrutiny, yawned, and ostentatiously +settled himself in a position of greater comfort.</p> + +<p>"You can't do it," he sneered. "Send a man."</p> + +<p>The <i>Dear Me</i> was not anchored, but moored to +the pier by a pulley and tackle. Before the +diverted Gerard guessed his purpose, Corrie had +hauled in the boat's bow by the running line +attached and swung himself raging into the craft +below. There was a choked oath, a sound of rending +canvas, then the clatter and thud of combat +in close quarters.</p> + +<p>It was over before Gerard could do more than +haul the reeling, water-drenched boat again within +reach. A great splash, a cry changing to a +smothered gurgle, announced a threat fulfilled.</p> + +<p>"I don't want any help," panted Corrie, standing +erect and dishevelled, fiery blue eyes on his +floundering enemy. "He's had enough, I fancy. +Here, the water is only five feet deep, you chump! +Not that way! Throw me an oar, Gerard—he'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +drown himself in a saucer. Here, catch hold, you. +What's the matter with you?"</p> + +<p>"You pitched him into pretty cold water," +Gerard reproached, between amusement and pity. +"Got him? Look out! You'll capsize!"</p> + +<p>Corrie had him, by the collar, and brought him +to the pier, a streaming, shivering wreck.</p> + +<p>"Man's size, am I?" demanded the victor. +"Here, what are you shaking like that for? +You'll kill yourself, man."</p> + +<p>The captive looked at him, speechless, shuddering +miserably in the boisterous rush of wind that +wrapped his wet garments about him like a sheath +of ice.</p> + +<p>"You silly idiot," Corrie snapped impatiently. +"Why didn't you do as I told you? Open the +basement door, won't you, Gerard, while I bring +him? We'll be sure to find a fire there. Are you +going to come quietly, yes?"</p> + +<p>The victim followed tamely to the lower part +of the building, where Corrie threw open a furnace-door +and installed him in the red glow of heat.</p> + +<p>"Take off your clothes," he commanded. "Trying +to get pneumonia, are you, so I will feel like a +brute? Oh, I'll give you something to wear; I've +got a lot of old duds in my locker here. What are +you laughing at, Allan Gerard?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The responsible man's burden. Never mind +me, go on with your rescue."</p> + +<p>"I should like to throw something at you."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you got enough on your hands?"</p> + +<p>The raillery struck some note in the man's pride. +He looked from Gerard to Corrie, who was bringing +an armful of assorted clothing, with a reawakening +defiance not so much evil as primitive.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have put it over me so easy," +he announced sombrely, "if I'd had the feed I +bet you got this morning."</p> + +<p>The garments escaped Corrie's grasp.</p> + +<p>"Feed? You're hungry?"</p> + +<p>"What you think I was sleepin' in your dinky +boat for, if I had the price of anythin'? It had +a blanket in it an' was better than the open, that's +why."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you say so," Corrie stormed at +him hotly. "Get into those clothes and come +upstairs. Or, no; I'll bring it down, stay there."</p> + +<p>It was an elaborate lunch-hamper that presently +was brought in and set down.</p> + +<p>"Eat it," was the concise direction. "That +vacuum-bottle is full of hot coffee; drink it. For +Heaven's sake stop shivering—<i>why</i> couldn't you +speak? Rupert is coming, Gerard. I heard the +motor-horn down the road."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerard discreetly had turned his back to the +scene, reading a last-season bulletin of yacht racing +that was fixed to the wall at the end of the +room.</p> + +<p>"You want to start?" he interpreted, as Corrie +joined him.</p> + +<p>"Well—I hope you won't mind, but I don't see +how we can. I have got to stay here until that +chattering, shaking——"</p> + +<p>"'Brimstone pig,'" supplied Gerard, with a +recollection of the unforgettable <i>Mrs. Smallweed</i>.</p> + +<p>"Thanks. Until he finishes and can leave, for +the steward will put him out if he finds him here +alone."</p> + +<p>"That cannot be long."</p> + +<p>"No, but," he hesitated, engagingly confused. +"But we are miles from a restaurant, you know, +and I had to feed him somehow, and there wasn't +anything except our luncheon that I had sent +over for the trip. So I suppose we had better +drive home and get some eats there. It is a shabby +way to treat you, all right, after bringing you +out."</p> + +<p>Gerard dropped his hand on the other's shoulder, +his laughing eyes very kind.</p> + +<p>"Corrie Rose, how many times a year do you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +throw your offenders overboard, and give them +your own lunch to make up for it?" he challenged.</p> + +<p>There was no lack of perception in Corrie; he +recognized both the innuendo and its truth.</p> + +<p>"About every day," he confessed. "My temper +slips. Everyone expects it of me, so it's all right. +At least, it has been all right; I guess I've got to +stop."</p> + +<p>"Corrie, you did not believe me in earnest?"</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't that." He shook his head as if +to shake off a vexing thought. "I—it makes me +feel like a brute to think I've been knocking out +a half-starved man and throwing him into that +water because he crawled under an old blanket +in my boat for shelter. Why didn't I question +him decently? I must put on the brake, or I'll +spoil something without intending it."</p> + +<p>Gerard opened his lips to deny the danger and +recall the provocation received, but for some reason +he did not analyze, closed them without speaking. +The two stood together in silence for many moments, +looking out at the gray-green expanse of +tumbling water.</p> + +<p>"I'll be goin'," the hoarse voice of the involuntary +guest said, behind them. "Obliged for your +feed."</p> + +<p>There was a tentative quality in the statement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +an attempt to carry off easily a situation capable +of unpleasant developments, a studied ignoring +of his captor's possible right to detain him. But +Corrie swung around with a face of open sunniness +that shamed suspicion, his hands in the pockets +of his long overcoat.</p> + +<p>"Good enough! Did you find what you liked, +or rather, like what you found?" he responded.</p> + +<p>The hard face relaxed into a reluctant humor, +the man looked again to assure himself of the +inquirer's seriousness.</p> + +<p>"The best ever," he essayed social graciousness. +"I ain't left much. Your little caramels +were fine."</p> + +<p>"Caramels? Who on earth put in caramels? +Armand must have lost his mind! What kind +of caramels?"</p> + +<p>"Wrapped in tin paper, they were, in a little +tin box."</p> + +<p>"Wrapped——Holy cats, Gerard, he has +eaten the concentrated bouillon squares! They +were not to eat, man; they were to be dissolved +in a cup of boiling water, to drink."</p> + +<p>"They tasted all right. I guess they'll go. I'll +be movin'."</p> + +<p>"Go? Well, I hope so; you must have enough +concentrated beef in you to nourish an army. You +are going, you say. Where to?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The big town."</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do when you get +there?"</p> + +<p>The man's dissipation-dulled eyes searched the +candid face of the questioner scarcely ten years +his junior, then he looked to Gerard with a confused +and reluctant unease, as he might have +looked had Corrie been a young girl whose innocence +he feared to offend.</p> + +<p>"Aw, lots of things," he evaded, with a short, +embarrassed laugh. "You don't want to hear me +talk, mister. I'll get there, now I'm fed up."</p> + +<p>"Do you want me to find work for you around +here? I can."</p> + +<p>"My jobs are a different kind, mister. I +couldn't stay in yours."</p> + +<p>Corrie brought his hand from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"All right, as you like. Take this for good +luck and we'll call ourselves even. Square, is it?"</p> + +<p>The man took the bill awkwardly, his +embarrassment deepened.</p> + +<p>"You're square, sure," he signified.</p> + +<p>As his slouching, bulky figure went out the +door opposite, it crossed the small erect form of +Jack Rupert, who entered.</p> + +<p>"Us for home," Corrie greeted the arrival. "It +is too bad to have brought you over for nothing, +Rupert, but—what's the matter?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<p>The mechanician's countenance was a study in +disgust, as he contemplated one of his polished +tan boots, a high-heeled, ornate affair of the latest +design labelled "smart." Off the race course and +outside of hours, Rupert had one passion: clothes.</p> + +<p>"I ain't registering any complaints if the rest +are satisfied," he acidly returned. "But stepping +in a puddle of wringing rags that the town board +of health ought to condemn for making a noisy +demonstration ain't what I look forward to all day +as a treat. As for going home, I'm ready, myself. +The trip we're missing will keep awhile this +weather. The water is mussed bad and the only +time I ever was car-sick was on the boat to +Savannah."</p> + +<p>"Did he spoil his pretty shoes?" Corrie teased, +speculatively eyeing the heap of wet, unsavory +clothing. "Never mind, Briggs shall make them +good as new with his Transcendant Tan for Tasteful +Tootsies; you haven't seen that darky of mine +shine boots. I don't know what to do with those +clothes, Gerard, so I think I won't do anything. +Let's go home before we starve. Rupert, don't +you approve of charity?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't fitted to say; nobody ever showed me +any. I always got exactly what I worked for, +measure evened off and loose-packed. If I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +sneaked into somebody's boat-garage without an +invitation, I wouldn't get a bath and breakfast +and a greenback; I'd get ten dollars or ten days +from the first judge in the stand. And so would +you."</p> + +<p>Corrie paused, struck.</p> + +<p>"I? Why?"</p> + +<p>"You. Why? What's the answer? I don't +know, but I know the type. You keep your score-card +and watch it happen; you'll find you get +just what you enter for. Nothing more <i>and</i> nothing +less."</p> + +<p>"'Nothing more <i>and</i> nothing less,'" Corrie repeated, +unconsciously exact. "Well," his dancing +smile flashed out, "we don't want any more than +that, do we? I'll be content with the life I earn."</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing, for that's all we'll get," +was the terse reply. "When some folks start to +kick a brick wall, luck drops a feather pillow between. +Other people stub their toes. I ain't crying +bad luck, because I never had any; I'm just +saying we'll stub our toes, if we kick the wall. We +don't have to kick it."</p> + +<p>"Rupert is a philosopher," Gerard observed, +not mockingly or in ridicule, but as one stating +a fact.</p> + +<p>His mechanician nodded coolly.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Calling names don't count. I've raced long +enough to know a type of car when I see it, and +I've lived long enough to tell a type of man. The +way their heads set does it, maybe. Did you know +the ladies were upstairs?"</p> + +<p>"The ladies?" echoed Gerard, surprised. +"They came with you?"</p> + +<p>"Not precisely, I guess I came with them. Miss +Rose saw me starting and said she was coming +over with her own little machine to see the launch +off, if she could get her cousin to come, and they'd +bring me. So she drove me over. I ain't used +to that."</p> + +<p>"Ladies?"</p> + +<p>"Ladies' driving. My life's insured, so it was +all right, though."</p> + +<p>"Bully for Isabel!" Corrie approved, pensiveness +cast aside. "Come up to them, Gerard. I +hear her tooting for us with the horn."</p> + +<p>From the little scarlet runabout—the largest +motor vehicle Mr. Rose would allow his vigorous +niece—Isabel and Flavia had descended.</p> + +<p>"We came to see what you were doing," Isabel +welcomed the group who issued from the club-house. +"I don't suppose Flavia would have come +if she hadn't been wondering whether Corrie was +drowning himself. Go ahead and start; don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +wait on our account. But you had better eat your +lunch first, if you haven't already, for you will +have no time to eat in the boat on that sea."</p> + +<p>"We haven't any lunch," Corrie cheerfully declared. +"I gave it to a tramp after I threw him +overboard. You're just in time to take us home +for luncheon and save our lives."</p> + +<p>"You look as if you had been fighting," Isabel +criticized, with a scornful survey of his attire. +"You are all splashed with dirty water, your +cravat is pulled crooked and your coat is torn. +We saw your tramp; he passed us a few moments +ago and we recognized your blue flannel suit with +the <i>Dear Me's</i> insignia on the lapel. Mr. Rupert +guessed what you had been doing, when he saw the +boat all in disorder and the pier all wet. The +man's hairy, dirty face looked horrid above your +clothes."</p> + +<p>"A contrast to my beauty, not so? Fix my +cravat, please, ma'am; I can't see the thing. +But his face wasn't dirty, for I washed it."</p> + +<p>"Why should I fix your wet cravat? Hold my +gloves, then. Where is your scarf-pin? Stolen +by your tramp, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Gerard had joined Flavia, but neither yet had +spoken, watching the cousins. They had not the +fluent familiarity of intercourse possessed by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +two who looked and acted very like a pair of +handsome boys. Moreover, Gerard distrusted himself, +fearing to say too much, too soon. He was +approaching Flavia carefully and delicately as a +man striving to close his hand on some frail, +elusive creature whose capture he scarcely dares +hope possible. And she gave him no help. Her +frank gentleness and impersonal cordiality gave +neither encouragement nor discouragement, no +foothold smooth or rough.</p> + +<p>The actual position he had never even conceived; +the fact that she was completely unconscious of +his desire to woo her. He had no way of knowing +that it was his attitude toward Isabel she considered +in all his words and acts, remembering +her cousin's confident appropriation of the guest. +It was of Isabel that she spoke now, while Gerard +hesitated for the right word to offer the girl +beside him.</p> + +<p>"The roads were very wet and slippery," she +remarked. "If Isabel were not a good driver, I +think we would have found ourselves in a ditch. +Indeed," her soft mouth dimpled into a smile, +"once I thought we were in one. One wheel <i>was</i>. +But we wiggled out again. Mr. Rupert wanted +to put the chains on the wheels, but she said we +did not need them."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> + +<p>The thought of Isabel over-ruling the judgment +of his racing mechanician unsteadied Gerard's +gravity.</p> + +<p>"A coarse masculine hand is needed on the +wheel, to-day," he confirmed, with ulterior intention. +"I believe we had better divide our party +differently, on the way back. Let me drive one +car and Corrie or Rupert the other. I'll promise +not to take any ditches, if you consent."</p> + +<p>"Great scheme," Corrie called, overhearing. +"I'll take the red near-car home, Isabel."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," Isabel vetoed decidedly. "Mr. +Gerard is going to take me home and I shall learn +a lot from watching him drive. You can take +Flavia in your roadster; Mr. Rupert will ride in +the rumble seat."</p> + +<p>Being a gentleman, Gerard compelled his expression +to evidence pleasant acquiescence. But +he was not soothed by the unclouded smile Flavia +sent her designated escort.</p> + +<p>"Corrie doesn't mind taking me, do you, dear?" +she covered her brother's chagrin.</p> + +<p>"I surely don't, Other Fellow," he heartily +corroborated, coming across to his sister, although +the change in his transparent face betrayed his +discomfiture at the slight. "You and I have had +many a good spin. In you go! Come up behind,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +Rupert; there is more room here than on the other +machine."</p> + +<p>"I think Mr. Rupert would rather ride with +us, anyhow," Flavia declared, her laughing eyes +questioning the mechanician. "I fancied, once +or twice on the way over, that he would have +preferred to have you or Mr. Gerard driving."</p> + +<p>"I ain't making any scornful denials," admitted +Rupert, as he stepped in front to crank the motor +for Corrie. "I've always looked forward to being +killed in a larger machine, myself."</p> + +<p>Isabel did not at once enter her own car.</p> + +<p>"I can't fasten this glove without taking off +the other, and then I can't fasten the other without +taking off this," she complained. "I really +believe——"</p> + +<p>So, the last the three in the departing roadster +saw of the two on the pier, Allan Gerard was +engaged in buttoning Isabel's glove, while her +wind-blown veils fluttered across his shoulders and +her flushed, provocative face bent over the task +beside his.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>IV</h2> +<h3>ISABEL</h3> + +<p>Isabel, in the clinging knitted coat that displayed +every attractive line of her athletic figure, +her cheeks reddened by triumph and the salt wind, +her gray eyes lifted in challenging coquetry, was +a sufficiently pleasant sight to dispel mere vexation. +And Gerard had no right to feel more than +annoyance at a disappointment of which she supposedly +knew nothing.</p> + +<p>"I ran away with you because I didn't want +to ride home with Corrie," she confided, when the +last button-hole was achieved. "You don't mind—much?"</p> + +<p>"I am overwhelmed by the honor," Gerard assured. +He was neither surly enough to refuse the +light play to which she invited him, nor anchorite +enough to be insensible to the flattery of being +sought. "But how did Prince Corrie offend his +sovereign lady?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that would be telling! You know, we +are <i>not</i> engaged."</p> + +<p>"Not yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. And the last time we were out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +alone together, he—he asked me to see if the oil +was running through that little cup on the dash."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>They were in the car now, Gerard behind the +steering-wheel. Isabel leaned down to touch her +fingers to the dash, turning her vivid-hued, consciously +alluring face across her shoulder to the +companion so close beside her, the auburn curls +tumbled about her forehead and her mouth tempting +as a small scarlet fruit.</p> + +<p>"And then, we were like this when—guess what +Corrie did?"</p> + +<p>It was not in the least difficult to guess what +the enamoured Corrie had done. But Gerard shook +his head, schooling his mirthful eyes.</p> + +<p>"I could not, possibly, Miss Rose. I am very +dull."</p> + +<p>"Well, what would <i>you</i> have done?"</p> + +<p>"I? I should have shut both eyes and recalled +St. Francis' rules of deportment."</p> + +<p>Isabel straightened herself, leaning back and +folding her hands in her lap.</p> + +<p>"That's what Corrie did not do," she stated. +"So I will not ride with him. It was bad taste."</p> + +<p>"I imagine Corrie found the taste most pleasant."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Have I guessed wrong?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You said that you were dull, Mr. Gerard."</p> + +<p>"Then the guess is wrong. Poor Corrie!"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.</p> + +<p>"You think a great deal about Corrie."</p> + +<p>"Yes. We are friends," Gerard quietly answered.</p> + +<p>She was clever enough to recognize the bar he +set to flirtation with the woman loved by the man +he gave that name, and she regarded the obstacle +as a challenge. She was not sufficiently old or +fine to realize that such bars are not crossed by +such men. If Gerard had loved her or believed +she might love him, he must have left his friend's +house; as Corrie would have left Gerard's in like +case. As a matter of fact, Gerard was perfectly +aware of the immunity of both parties and that +Isabel was merely seeking temporary diversion—experimenting +with the possibilities of her own +heady youth.</p> + +<p>A forking of the road supplied a new subject +for discussion.</p> + +<p>"Turn to the left," Isabel directed, sitting +erect.</p> + +<p>Surprised, Gerard checked the machine.</p> + +<p>"We did not come that way, Miss Rose."</p> + +<p>"Of course not; you came by the long route, +past the Goodwin farm. This is a better road."</p> + +<p>"Better?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>She followed his gaze down the vista of slippery, +rut-grooved mud, and colored.</p> + +<p>"A shorter road, then," she amended petulantly. +"I am sure I don't care—go the long way if you +wish. The storm is blowing back again, but I +can stand the rain."</p> + +<p>Gerard hastily turned into the wretched travesty +of a road.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; I only wondered if you +were quite certain of the route," he apologized.</p> + +<p>There ensued a period of silence. The little +car slipped and wallowed through sliding mud +and yellow puddles.</p> + +<p>"I hope you do not drive here, yourself," Gerard +observed.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I should be afraid?"</p> + +<p>"I think you might have serious trouble. There +is a deep ditch on either side, while the road is +both narrow and slippery."</p> + +<p>"I can drive anywhere. Ask Corrie."</p> + +<p>"I suspect he is a biassed judge. But I should +not have believed he would let you drive here."</p> + +<p>"He——I never did except in dry weather. +I knew <i>you</i> would not mind any road and could +drive in anything, so it did not matter."</p> + +<p>"Please consider the compliment more than +appreciated, mademoiselle," Gerard smiled. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +"There is going to be a splash when we strike +that puddle ahead; had you not better draw in +your frock?"</p> + +<p>She caught her white serge skirts around her +and shrank nearer to her companion with a gurgle +of dismayed laughter.</p> + +<p>"Let me get in the middle. Uh, what a muddy +swamp! Oh—my face!"</p> + +<p>In fact, the water had splashed as the car struck +the pool where a rain-swollen brook had overflowed +the road. As Gerard turned to the girl, +she lifted a face sprinkled with drops which she +strove to remove with her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"Is it off?" she questioned. "Please look +carefully. <i>All</i> off?"</p> + +<p>He was obliged to scrutinize the handsome countenance +offered for inspection at close range.</p> + +<p>"A trifle of mud, still," he admitted.</p> + +<p>"Where? Here?"</p> + +<p>"No—more to the left. Beneath the eye—the +other eye."</p> + +<p>"This place?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite."</p> + +<p>It was incredible, the length of time that small +spot evaded Isabel's questing handkerchief, and +the futility of Gerard's directions. He was +obliged to halt the car, at last.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A little higher—not so much. There! No, +not so low."</p> + +<p>With a gesture of mock despair, she gave him +the fragrant square of linen.</p> + +<p>"Wipe it off," she requested resignedly. "I +can't motor all over Long Island with a dirty face. +There is no one in sight for miles; wipe it off +and never tell."</p> + +<p>"I am very clumsy," he demurred.</p> + +<p>"Well, it can't be helped."</p> + +<p>Gerard might have echoed the exclamation. But +he accepted the handkerchief and deftly, if with +inward embarrassment, removed the stain from +the ruddy cheek presented.</p> + +<p>"It can't be off, Mr. Gerard?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon, it is gone."</p> + +<p>"You hardly touched it," doubtingly.</p> + +<p>"If you could see——" he began in defense +of his work.</p> + +<p>"Look once more."</p> + +<p>He obeyed, impersonally and coolly.</p> + +<p>"Nothing, indeed," he asserted.</p> + +<p>She glanced up at him through her long lashes, +and flung herself back in her seat.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Shall we go on?"</p> + +<div class="figtag"> + <a id="image_003"></a> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" alt="Gerard and Isabel go Driving" title=""WIPE IT OFF," SHE REQUESTED RESIGNEDLY, "WIPE IT OFF +AND NEVER TELL"" /> +<p class="caption">"WIPE IT OFF," SHE REQUESTED RESIGNEDLY, "WIPE IT OFF +AND NEVER TELL"</p> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>The operation and the drive that preceded it +had occupied considerable time. It was an hour +since the party had separated at the yacht club's +pier. The brief interval of comparative clearness +had given place to dark skies across which the +capricious wind herded masses of gray cloud. And +presently several drops of rain fell and trickled +down the wind-shield of the car.</p> + +<p>"Hurry," Isabel urged, sitting up with renewed +animation. "It is going to pour."</p> + +<p>"The little machine isn't capable of much +hurrying on this road," Gerard regretted. "She +hasn't any speed, of course. How far have we +left to go?"</p> + +<p>"A long way, seven or eight miles. We haven't +passed the country club, yet."</p> + +<p>"But Corrie drove over in an hour!"</p> + +<p>"With his big car, yes," she retorted. "Perhaps +this was not the best way, after all. But it +would take longer to go back, now, than to keep +on."</p> + +<p>This was obvious. There was nothing to do +except force the skidding, panting automobile to +maintain its best gait.</p> + +<p>They were destined to lose that race. As they +came opposite a low brick building set amidst rolling +green slopes and stretches of flag-dotted turf, +the storm overtook them.</p> + +<p>"Up the driveway," Isabel cried. "We can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +just make it. This is the country club—we'll +'phone home where we are staying."</p> + +<p>Gerard sent the car up the wide gravelled path. +An attendant was waiting to receive them, another +assumed charge of the automobile, and Isabel's +escort found himself standing beside her on the +veranda with rather confused ideas of how the +affair had been accomplished.</p> + +<p>"Koma says there is no one else here," she +informed him. "We have all the place to ourselves. +How it rains!"</p> + +<p>It certainly was raining, raining violently and +steadily, a gray downpour from a gray sky. She +paused to look before continuing.</p> + +<p>"I'll 'phone to Flavia, first of all. I can see +we are going to have a long wait. Koma will get +us the best luncheon he knows how. Aren't you +hungry? I am. Come in."</p> + +<p>Gerard uttered some reply. He was profoundly +vexed at his situation, without being able to blame +himself for it or to fix any actual fault upon Isabel. +She had already turned away to enter the hall, and +presently he heard the tinkle of the telephone bell, +followed by her high-pitched voice.</p> + +<p>"One one seven? Martin, I want Miss Rose. +Yes, it is I. Oh!——We're at the country club, +Corrie. No, we didn't get lost; we just chose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +that road.... Not a bit, it was good sport. +We're having luncheon together, here, and then I +suppose we will play billiards until the rain stops. +Tell Flavia not to worry; we'll get home by dinner-time, +and we're enjoying ourselves.... Not +wet, just splashed. Mr. Gerard spoiled a handkerchief +drying me, that's all the damage. Good-by."</p> + +<p>She reappeared on the threshold, complacently +satisfied. She had removed her hood and veils, +shaken her ruddy hair into becoming disorder, and +knew herself at her best.</p> + +<p>"You are enjoying yourself, aren't you?" she +demanded.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," Gerard responded, without enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Why not come in, then? Which do you like +most to commence a luncheon——Blue Points or +little clams? Corrie and I quarrel over that +every time we are out together. He is as obstinate +as, as—Corrie!"</p> + +<p>"Clams," said he, at a venture. He had a +vague recollection of seeing Corrie dismiss oysters +with scorn, and he felt viciously contrary.</p> + +<p>"Why, so do I," agreed Isabel winningly. "Let +us order some."</p> + +<p>One cannot be disagreeable to a young girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +under one's care, who also is in a sense one's +hostess. The luncheon was sufficiently gay. The +rain fell incessantly, beating against the diamond-paned +windows, gurgling down eaves and gutter-ways.</p> + +<p>"We should have sailed home in the <i>Dear Me</i>," +Isabel declared. "I am sure there is enough water +on the roads. Why did we not think of it?"</p> + +<p>She detached a chrysanthemum petal from the +vase of blossoms central on the table, and dropped +it into her finger-bowl, watching the agitation of a +diminutive scarlet-and-black beetle perched upon +the sinking leaf.</p> + +<p>"An execution?" Gerard inquired.</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes, pouting prettily, and +nodded.</p> + +<p>"I hate those bugs," she explained. "Ugly +animals! We put them in and wager a box of +bon-bons on how long they last. If it is still alive +at the end of five minutes, I lose. If it is drowned, +I win."</p> + +<p>"Does Corrie play that game with you?"</p> + +<p>"N'no. Corrie doesn't like it. He will step +off of a sidewalk into the mud to avoid treading on +a cricket. Do you suppose I never play with +any one except my cousin? Will you try this +wager? <i>You're</i> not silly?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I will, if I may. If that lady-bug is alive five +minutes from now, I win? No other conditions?"</p> + +<p>"None," gleefully. "Take your watch. You'll +lose, he's weakening now."</p> + +<p>Gerard leaned across, lifted the struggling beetle +upon his finger-tip, and restored it to the safe +refuge of the chrysanthemum bouquet.</p> + +<p>"I believe he will live some time," he soberly +predicted.</p> + +<p>The girl stared, frowned, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"No fair! No fair! That's not the game, +Mr. Gerard."</p> + +<p>"No? Then I will send the bon-bons."</p> + +<p>"Chocolates."</p> + +<p>"They shall be chocolates."</p> + +<p>"And I may put back the nasty beetle?"</p> + +<p>"On no account; I have ransomed him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," she shrugged, rising. "I'll +take refuge in billiards for the next game. Corrie +taught me to play, but I can beat him, now."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he doesn't watch his game when his +opponent is his cousin."</p> + +<p>"Why, what else should he watch?" she wondered, +arching her brows a trifle too innocently.</p> + +<p>"I cannot imagine, if you do not know," Gerard +dryly responded, and held open the door for her +to pass out.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> + +<p>In the billiard room, Isabel rolled her sleeves +above her elbows as a preliminary measure.</p> + +<p>"I haven't had that off for a year," she confided, +indicating a flexible platinum and turquoise +bracelet encircling her firm, sun-browned arm.</p> + +<p>"You are fond of it?" her companion inferred. +"It is a beautiful bit of work, indeed."</p> + +<p>"I like it well enough. That isn't the reason, +though. You see, it locks, and after Corrie put +it on my arm he kept the key. He says he will +give it to me on my wedding day. But it isn't +worth that."</p> + +<p>"Worth——?" he questioned.</p> + +<p>"Getting married. Will you play me even?"</p> + +<p>"Pray fix any odds you choose, Miss Rose. +How many points does Corrie usually give you?"</p> + +<p>This time Isabel's stare of surprise was genuine.</p> + +<p>"I meant, how many points should I allow +<i>you</i>," she corrected arrogantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, pardon me!" he submitted. "Suppose, +in that case, we play for an even score."</p> + +<p>The storm did not abate. The wind drove the +rain before it in glistening gray sheets, the steady +drumming of the downpour accompanied the click +of meeting ivory balls and the occasional speech +of the players. After a time, a deep-belled Mission +clock in the hall struck four.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>A sharp, incredulous cry from the girl rang +out, after an interval of silence in the room.</p> + +<p>"Why—why, you've won!"</p> + +<p>"So I have," acknowledged her antagonist. +"Shall I apologize?"</p> + +<p>Isabel started to speak, and checked herself. +She had been chiefly intent upon her own accomplishment, +and Gerard's playing was of a deceptive +leisureliness and tranquillity.</p> + +<p>"How many did you make in that last run?" +she asked, finally.</p> + +<p>"Only seventeen."</p> + +<p>"You can't do it again."</p> + +<p>"One never can tell."</p> + +<p>"Play," she defied.</p> + +<p>Gerard glanced hopelessly at the streaming +windows.</p> + +<p>"It is growing late," he demurred.</p> + +<p>"Not late, yet. Besides, we can't go out in +that weather with an open automobile. They know +at home where we are."</p> + +<p>They did; that was precisely the core of +Gerard's exasperation and unrest. What impressions +would this tête-à-tête afternoon convey to +Corrie? And what would Flavia think of her +guest's guardianship of her cousin? He picked +up his cue with enforced resignation.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>The clock had struck the half-hour, when a +long blast from an electric horn pierced through +the clamor of the storm.</p> + +<p>"Another motor-party caught out," Isabel +hazarded, her tone decidedly cross. She was losing +again, and she did not like the experience. +"Your play. You seem to find it more amusing +to look out the window."</p> + +<p>Gerard was spared reply. The billiard-room +door was pushed open by the Japanese steward +and a figure in gleaming rain-proof attire appeared +on the threshold—the figure of a chauffeur, cap +in hand.</p> + +<p>"Lenoir!" Isabel exclaimed.</p> + +<p>The chauffeur saluted.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rose sent the limousine to convey mademoiselle +and Mr. Gerard," he informed them, in +his precise, Parisian-flavored English.</p> + +<p>"My uncle is home?"</p> + +<p>"I had just driven Mr. Rose home from the +city, mademoiselle, before he telephoned to the +garage that I should come here."</p> + +<p>She tossed her cue upon the table, recklessly +scattering the balls, and turned toward the door.</p> + +<p>"Bring our wraps, Koma," she bade. "We had +better go."</p> + +<p>Gerard contemplated Lenoir with marked kindness.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a bad day to be out," he commented, in +following Isabel from the room, and passed into +the chauffeur's hand a gratuity out of all proportion +to the occasion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Lenoir, demurely.</p> + +<p>The drive home was short and uninteresting. +On the veranda of the Rose villa Corrie was waiting +to meet the returning two, upon the limousine's +arrival.</p> + +<p>"Well, of all the slow traveling I ever saw, +this is the limit," he greeted them derisively; +"From noon until five o'clock! Fancy!"</p> + +<p>"Never mind our driving; we have had a fine +time," Isabel retorted, with pettish tartness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, ma'am, no doubt. I wouldn't have interrupted, +myself. It was father who did it, when +he came in. He said you'd want some dinner +to-night."</p> + +<p>He smiled at Gerard as cordially as ever, but +there was a wistfulness underlying his expression +that inspired the older man with a hearty desire +to shake Isabel Rose. She could watch her young +lover's emotions with the same diverted interest +with which she had watched the struggles of the +tiny black-and-scarlet beetle drowning in her +finger-bowl.</p> + +<p>"I wish you had been with us, Corrie," was all +Gerard found to say.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>Through the parted curtains, the library presented +such a graceful interior study as certain +French artists have delighted in drawing. In the +octagonal, book-lined room of rich hues and soft +lights, Flavia and her father were seated together; +busied in pleasant comradeship at the table whose +polished surface was littered with letters, books +of household accounts, and all those dainty metal +and crystal trinkets the jeweller conceives necessary +to the writer. Evidently they had found +refreshment desirable, for a diminutive tea-table +still stood near Flavia, while a pushed-back chair +beneath which a young Great Dane hound lay +asleep indicated that Corrie had been one of the +group.</p> + +<p>"Back, are you?" Mr. Rose called cheerily, to +the two in the hall, leaning back in his chair to +view them more easily. "When I heard where you +were marooned, I guessed it was about time for +a rescue. You children oughtn't to try roundabout +country roads with a storm blowing up."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gerard wanted to go that way," Isabel +alleged, with perfect assurance. "I told him to +do as he chose."</p> + +<p>That distortion of facts was too much to be +endured, with Corrie listening and Flavia a witness. +Gerard's chivalry momentarily lapsed and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +he struck back with all the effectiveness of superior +experience.</p> + +<p>"Yes, certainly," he confirmed, carefully distinct. +"I naturally wanted to get Miss Rose +safely at home as soon as possible, and since she +said that road was the shortest route, I took it, +of course."</p> + +<p>"The <i>shortest</i>?" Corrie echoed, astounded. +"The——"</p> + +<p>He broke the speech in time, hastily discreet. +Isabel crimsoned hotly; the glance she darted at +her late escort was not dovelike. It was Flavia +who brought relief to the situation, as usual.</p> + +<p>"These Long Island roads are outrageously +misleading," she offered light suggestion, rising +with a smiling gesture of excuse to her father. +"Isa and I often lose our way when we drive out +together. Don't you want to change your damp +things, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," assented her cousin, sullenly. "It's +time to make ready for dinner, anyhow."</p> + +<p>Corrie held aside the curtain for the girls to +pass out. His blue eyes were dancing in pure mischief +and relief. All the household understood +Isabel's propensity for flirtation—and its utter +lack of significance. If she had detained Gerard,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +not Gerard her, her lover-cousin had no ground +for especial apprehension.</p> + +<p>"Punk weather," he commented, coming back.</p> + +<p>"Dullest I ever experienced," supplemented his +guest decidedly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose set a paper-weight on the letter open +before him, and lit a cigar.</p> + +<p>"We were discussing the buying of another +automobile, Gerard, when you came in," he imparted. +"Come sit down for half an hour before +we dress—we not needing so long as the ladies +for it—and give us your advice on the choice."</p> + +<p>"And I'll give you one of my monogram cigarettes," +volunteered Corrie, slipping a hand affectionately +through Gerard's arm. "Oh, no—I +don't smoke them, but I like to carry them. And +when you want something extra fine, you ask +Corwin B. Rose for one of his smokes. Let's sit +here, together."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>V</h2> +<h3>THE VASE OF AL-MANSOR</h3> + +<p>On the threshold of his father's model garage +Corrie stopped, surveying the scene presented in +the centre of the huge, lofty stone room, bare +except for the five automobiles ranged around and +their countless appurtenances disposed upon walls +and shelves.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, but when did you two last wash?" +he jeered.</p> + +<p>The two men beside the Mercury racing car +looked up at the figure in the sunny doorway.</p> + +<p>"I don't care to try to prove that I ever did," +returned Gerard. "The evidence is against me. +But Rupert had his beauty bath this morning, +all right. You're looking rather disarranged, +yourself; perhaps the course was a trifle dusty."</p> + +<p>They laughed silently across at one another. +The trim garments of all three men were gray +with dust and oil, their faces were streaked and +spotted with the caked road-soil. There was little +difference in color between Gerard's brown ripples +of hair, Corrie's blonde locks and the black head +of the mechanician who bent over the motor.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If this is practice work, <i>what</i> is the race +going to be like?" speculated Corrie, dragging off +his gauntlets. The recent speed-exhilaration was +still heavily upon him; as with his sister, the +darker shading of brows and lashes always gave +his fair-tinted face a warm vividness of expression. +"The course is in fierce shape, already. I say—why +did you especially warn me that the road +wouldn't be fit for fast going until to-morrow, +then get out in your own machine and break all +practice records for the fastest lap? Trying to +keep me out of your way, or to break your neck +and Rupert's?"</p> + +<p>"The first, certainly," Gerard asserted. +"Really, I didn't mean to do any speeding to-day, +Corrie, but when I saw the white road ahead, I—think +something slipped."</p> + +<p>"You're a cheerful hypocrite, all right. Here, +catch, baseballist!"</p> + +<p>Gerard retreated a step and deftly caught the +dripping missile as it hurtled across the garage.</p> + +<p>"You ought to wring out your league sponges," +he reproved. "Thanks; I was wondering how I +could take this face into the house, unless I got +Rupert to turn the hose on me. You see, I might +meet some one."</p> + +<p>"You'd meet Flavia," Corrie declared, busying<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +himself with his own ablutions. "She's out there +in the flowing arbor, sewing some gimcrack thing +and pretending she hasn't been worrying because +I was out on the course. She comes downstairs +every morning to see me start—you know that—and +then sits around all day watching until I +come in again. None of that for Isabel; she's a +sport."</p> + +<p>Gerard shook the water from his thick hair and +finished the perfunctory toilet without replying. +But as he passed Rupert, he dropped a light hand +on the mechanician's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"When you marry, Jack Rupert, will the girl +be a sport?" he questioned.</p> + +<p>"My wedding cards ain't paining me bad just +now."</p> + +<p>"Well, but suppose the case."</p> + +<p>The black eyes lifted for a moment from the +task in hand.</p> + +<p>"I guess I'd be sport enough for one house," +Rupert impassively pronounced. "I hate a +crowd."</p> + +<p>Gerard nodded to the boy across the garage, +his face gleaming into mirth.</p> + +<p>"Coals to Newcastle," he signified. "Everyone +doesn't like to live shop."</p> + +<p>There was the splashing thud of an overturned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +bucket. As Gerard passed out the door, Corrie +overtook him.</p> + +<p>"Gerard," he panted, "Gerard, you said that +purposely! You meant to tell me that—that Isabel—that +you——"</p> + +<p>Gerard regarded him quietly, a little smile +curving his lips.</p> + +<p>"You meant to tell me that I needn't worry +about you and Isabel; that you've seen I want +her, and you won't cut in? You meant that?"</p> + +<p>The smile crept to Gerard's eyes, but he remained +mute. With a quick breath Corrie grasped +his companion's hand and squeezed it ardently.</p> + +<p>"You're <i>big</i>, Allan Gerard. And kind. For +I've been watching, these ten days, and you could +get her if you tried."</p> + +<p>He turned back into the building before contradiction +was possible. After a moment, Gerard +went on down the path between the althea bushes.</p> + +<p>The "flowing arbor" of Corrie's description +was a decorative masterpiece of Mr. Rose's own +design; a large, pink marble fountain, surrounded +by a pink-columned arcade strewn with rugs and +cushions. Whatever its architectural faults, it was +a fairy-tale place of gurgling water and soft +shadows, shot through with the tints of silver +spray, rosy stone and deep green turf. Flavia was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +seated here, in the summer-warm sunshine of early +October that had succeeded the storms of the +previous week, a long strip of varicolored embroidery +lying across her lap and the overfed +Persian kitten nestling against her light gown.</p> + +<p>"Corrie is home," Gerard announced, pausing +in one of the arched openings. "But I suppose +you saw him come in, from here."</p> + +<p>The young girl lifted to him the frank welcome +of her glance and smile, with their pathetic shade +of hostess dignity.</p> + +<p>"I saw you both come in," she confirmed. "One +sees a great deal from this watch-tower. But it +is good of you to tell me; you know how glad I +am when he is back. Will you not rest before +you go into the house? Corrie always comes here +first; to gather strength, he says, to climb the +terrace steps."</p> + +<p>"I am not fit," he deprecated. "I would soil +your purple with my dust and poison, your Venetian +atmosphere with gasoline fumes."</p> + +<p>"Corrie does it."</p> + +<p>"Corrie is privileged. The first time I ever +saw you, you were watching Corrie. You made +me feel that I lived in a barn."</p> + +<p>"A——"</p> + +<p>"A blank, impersonal, vacant set of rooms. A<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> +house where, if I were brought in on a shutter, +there would be no one except the undertaker to +pull down the shades."</p> + +<p>Flavia winced, shocked out of her calm.</p> + +<p>"Please do not! I—please do not say those +things."</p> + +<p>"There, you see. I do not even know how to +talk to you properly. It doesn't worry me to +think about just dying and I forgot that other +people dislike the subject. Now, it was living +that made me envy Corrie and feel melancholy."</p> + +<p>Flavia drew the silk thread with slow accuracy. +Her pulses were commencing to beat heavy strokes, +she dared not raise her troubled eyes to the dominant, +self-possessed man opposite. There was +a pause.</p> + +<p>"In novels," Gerard mused, "when a man sees +the woman who locks the wheels of his fancy, he +drops everything else and follows her until he +gets—his answer. But in real life we're pretty +stupid; we let circumstances interfere, or we don't +quite realize what has happened to us, we don't +do the right thing, anyway. Sometimes we're lucky +enough to get another chance. If we do——"</p> + +<p>The gush and ripple of the fountain, the rustle +of the broad-leaved lilies as the changing breeze +sent the spray pattering across them; filled pleas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>antly +the lapses of his leisurely speech. Flavia +was acutely conscious of his steady gaze upon her +bent head, and the unhurried certainty with which +he was moving toward his chosen goal. Only, what +was that goal? She remembered Isabel's sureness +of her own attraction, Isabel's deliberate monopoly +of Gerard's attention whenever possible during the +last ten days, and Corrie's assertion that his cousin +was "just the kind of girl Gerard would like." +Yet, he was saying this to her, Flavia. And suddenly +she was almost sure of what she never had +dared imagine.</p> + +<p>She had no thought that Gerard might be hesitating +in uncertain humility before the delicate +maidenhood that invested her like a fine atmosphere +forbidding approach. She was not even dimly +aware that her averted face controlled to soft +impassivity, the intent gaze on her work which +veiled her eyes beneath their heavy lashes, the regular +movement of her slender fingers as she sewed, +conveyed an impression of unmoved serenity that +might have quelled a vainer man than Allan +Gerard. Yet it was so, and he temporized; not +knowing that for her there were three people in +the arcade, the third Isabel, and not daring to +continue his broken sentence.</p> + +<p>"I have been wondering if you ever translated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> +your name," he remarked, when silence verged on +embarrassment. "I have wondered many times if +it were just chance that called you so."</p> + +<p>"My Mother was Flavia Corwin; I am named for +her. What does it mean?" she answered, surprised.</p> + +<p>Just for an instant she looked at him, and in +the one encounter of glances innocently undid all +her reserve had built up. Gerard's color ran up +under his clear skin like a girl's, brilliant-eyed, he +took a step into the arcade.</p> + +<p>"It's too late in the season to tell you out here," +he demurred. "I'll send you the translation this +evening, if I may. There's something else I'd like +to tell you, but I've got to find some civilized clothing, +first. Essex lost his head for approaching +the Queen in his riding-dress, and I'm risking +more. I——"</p> + +<p>"Hurry up, you two!" hailed Corrie's injured +voice, the ring of his step sounded in the stone +arcade. "It's six o'clock now. Come on in."</p> + +<p>"I'll come," Gerard answered the summons, +again his warm, sparkling gaze caught and held +Flavia's as, startled, she raised her head. "I was +telling Miss Rose that I must get rid of this road +dust. But I wasn't thinking of eating, then."</p> + +<p>Scarlet rushed over Flavia's face and neck. As +Corrie took gay possession of Gerard and bore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +him off, she sank back in her chair, winding her +fingers hard into the embroidery. Not the omnivorous +Isabel's, this! There was nothing to fear, +ever again. She had the perfect certainty that +Gerard would complete that purpose of his the +next time they met. And they would meet in an +hour. Suddenly she caught up the drowsy kitten +and hid her face against the soft living toy.</p> + +<p>They did meet in an hour, but it was on the +way to dinner, and the exuberant Corrie held the +reins of conversation.</p> + +<p>"I've discharged Dean," was his first announcement. +"Take those oysters away from in front +of me, Perkins; I want my soup right now and a +lot of it—about a gallon. Never mind anyone +else; I haven't had anything but sandwiches since +breakfast."</p> + +<p>"Discharged your mechanician one day before +the race?" marvelled Gerard. "What will +you do?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm going out to the garage after dinner +to hire him over again. He's used to it. Now, +I suppose that if you fired Jack Rupert, you'd +never see him again."</p> + +<p>"I certainly would not."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's the difference. I'm afraid of +Rupert, myself. Dean hasn't any dignity."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Neither have you," observed Isabel bitingly. +"You're worse than Dean. I saw you kick Frederick +the Great all across the veranda yesterday, +then lead him around the kitchen and feed him +porterhouse steak."</p> + +<p>"That was remorse," Mr. Rose suggested, +coolly amused. He looked across at Gerard, as +at the only other grown person present. "You'd +best take a porterhouse steak to Dean when you +go, Corwin B. It's a fine temper you've got."</p> + +<p>"All right, sir, if you say it. I guess Dean +would eat a porterhouse, if he isn't a Great Dane +puppy. But I saw a man to-day in a temper +that makes anything I ever did read like a chapter +from Patient Griselda."</p> + +<p>"He must have been a lunatic," Isabel kindly +inferred.</p> + +<p>Her cousin put his elbows on the table and contemplated +her with mock reproach; looking rather +nearer his sixteenth year than his nineteenth in +this mood of effervescent gayety. Ever since his +interview with Gerard, in the garage that afternoon, +his high spirits had been unquenchable.</p> + +<p>"You're cross, Isabel," he stated frankly. +"Where did you get the grouch? That's a stunning +purple frock you've got on."</p> + +<p>"It isn't, it's mauve," corrected Isabel, but she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +smiled and smoothed a chiffon ruffle. "Who was +your man, then, Corrie?"</p> + +<p>"He was the French driver of the Bluette car, +and he came into the judges' stand to make a complaint +against another fellow who wouldn't give +him the road. Kept getting in front, you know, +whenever the Bluette wanted to pass, and cutting +it off so it had to fall behind. He was in a French +calm, all right, and I don't wonder. But I don't +believe anyone could really carry it through, could +they, Gerard?"</p> + +<p>Gerard roused himself from his study of Flavia, +as she sat in her ivory-tinted lace gown at the foot +of the table, her small head bent under its weight +of gleaming fair hair. The massively handsome +room, with its rich hues of gilded leather, mellow +Eastern rugs and hangings, carved wood and +glinting metal, enchanted him as a background for +her dainty youth as if he had never seen it there +before or might again. It was difficult for him +to look away.</p> + +<p>"Carry it through?" he repeated. "Of +course, easily."</p> + +<p>"Not with some drivers! Not with me!"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because I wouldn't stand it. Because I'd +drive through the car ahead if it tried to keep me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +back. Oh, I'd have them out of my way—you're +<i>laughing</i> at me, Allan Gerard!"</p> + +<p>Gerard was certainly laughing, and the others +with him.</p> + +<p>"If I were Dean, I wouldn't wait to be fired, +Corrie; I'd resign," he rallied. "Some day I'll +challenge you to a game of auto tag, and show +you that trick."</p> + +<p>"You can't; I'd get by," Corrie retorted, his +violet-blue eyes afire with excitement.</p> + +<p>"Instead of you two fighting about that nonsense, +you might take me around the course in +one of your cars," Isabel remarked gloomily. +"I've asked you often enough."</p> + +<p>"You'll not do that," Mr. Rose pronounced with +decision. "It's not fit and I won't have it. And +I'm tired of hearing you sulk at Corrie and Gerard +because they've got the sense to say no. You'll +keep out of the racing cars and off the race track, +my girl. Flavia, if you don't make your brother +stop eating nuts, he'll be ashamed to meet a +squirrel in the woods."</p> + +<p>There was open mutiny in the glance Isabel +darted at her uncle, but she said nothing. Mr. +Rose was not contradicted in his own house by +anyone.</p> + +<p>"Nuts agree with me, sir," Corrie protested,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +aggrieved. "Besides, I feel as if I had to celebrate +somehow; I have had such a bully day." +He leaned back in his chair, turning to Gerard +his gaze of shining acknowledgment and measureless +content. "I don't think I ever spent such an +all-round good old day, just all right all through. +I shall have to tie a gold medal on the calendar, +or mark it with a white stone, or——"</p> + +<p>"Or drop a pearl in the vase of Al-Mansor," +Gerard suggested. His own feelings were not +very far removed from Corrie's, that night.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" Isabel questioned. "I never +heard that story. What is the vase of Al-Mansor?"</p> + +<p>"A legend of the days of the caliphs. If you +care about it, some day I will find a copy to +send."</p> + +<p>"Some day! I want to hear it now."</p> + +<p>"Tell us, with all the trimmings," Corrie urged, +"No sliding around the flowery parts and cutting +scenes, but the full performance. Flavia loves +that sort of thing, too; she and I grew up on the +Arabian Nights and Byron and Irving. We +dramatized 'The Fall of Granada,' for the toy +theatre, but Bulwer was dead, so it didn't matter.</p> + +<p>"Perkins, up in my den you'll find a five-pound +box of Turkish Delight, sent to-night from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +candy shop; bring it here to help the Oriental +atmosphere."</p> + +<p>Flavia looked up, and Gerard caught her eyes, +no longer quite untroubled before his own.</p> + +<p>"What a set of comparisons to face," he deprecated. +"Shall I dare it, Miss Rose?"</p> + +<p>"Would you leave us to suffer all the pangs +of unsatisfied curiosity?" she wondered. "To +dream all night of elusive pearls that disappear in +their vase as Cleopatra's in her goblet of vinegar?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose took a cigar and a match, nodding +humorously at his guest.</p> + +<p>"You're in for it," he signified. "Better get +it over."</p> + +<p>"And no cutting," exacted Corrie, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then; pray imagine yourselves in +the bazaar, and remember this isn't my fault," +Gerard submitted. He paused, assembling his +recollections. "On ascending the throne at Bagdad, +in the full noon of the glory of the caliphs; +it is told that Al-Mamoun, the son of Haroun-al-Raschid, +the great-grandson of Al-Mansor, received +from the former vizier a small golden vase.</p> + +<p>"'Lord of the East, newly-risen Sun of the +true believers,' said the vizier, 'your great-grandfather +of venerated memory caused to be made +this vase, proposing to place therein a pearl for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +every day of perfect happiness he should pass. +And when he received the vase from the goldsmith, +he complained that the vase was too small. +But, alas, the mighty Al-Mansor died without ever +putting in a single pearl, for the day when the +vase came home he learned that his loved sultana +plotted against his life.</p> + +<p>"'After many years, in his turn came to rule +your illustrious father, Haroun the Wise, and +took the vase. He, the great king, who never +travelled without a hundred scholars in his train, +who built a school for poor children beside every +mosque, he the magnificent in war and peace, in +all his long reign enriched the vase by two pearls; +the day of his coronation and the day of his death; +the day before he saw Marida the Beautiful and +the day he forgot her forever. Now, Commander +of the Faithful, according to my charge I deliver +the vase to you, with hope that your joys may +exhaust the sea of pearls.'</p> + +<p>"Hearing, Al-Mamoun fell into profound musing.</p> + +<p>"'Vizier,' he said, 'I cannot mark the day I +began to reign, who loved my father and take his +place with tears, and the day of my death no man +knows. But, by the favor of Allah, I will add +one pearl to the vase while I live.'</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The next morning many workmen came to the +palace. Around the fairest part of the garden +they reared a lofty wall, within its circle they +placed everything which the king might desire. +On the day appointed, in that spot assembled his +favorite musicians, the scholars in whose conversation +he most delighted, the captains whose +faces reminded him of victories and the poets +whose words fell like drops from the spring that +bubbles before Allah's throne in Paradise. Only, +because women had troubled the days of Al-Mansor +and Haroun, no woman was admitted.</p> + +<p>"With pomp, music and rejoicing, Al-Mamoun +moved at sunrise to the garden of delights that +was to shelter him from the world for one day. +But, as his foot touched the threshold, a great +cry of lamentation went through the palace.</p> + +<p>"'What now?' demanded the king, halting.</p> + +<p>"A guard of the serail answered, his brow in +the dust:</p> + +<p>"'Lord, the sultana has drowned herself in the +Court of Fountains, because of grief that your +day of perfect happiness could be passed without +her.'</p> + +<p>"Then Al-Mamoun drew back his foot and returned +to the palace, knowing that from him the +golden vase would claim no pearls."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That is all?" Isabel asked expectantly.</p> + +<p>"What more could there be, mademoiselle?"</p> + +<p>"There might be a moral," Corrie suggested, +leaning his folded arms on the table, his interested +eyes fixed upon the story-teller.</p> + +<p>"When I read the Arabian Nights, I found out +that Oriental tales have no morals," dryly observed +Mr. Rose. "A man who had been brought up +with the Blarney Stone for a teething-ring once +sold me an unexpurgated edition de luxe, with +illustrations, so I ought to know."</p> + +<p>"I never saw it, sir!"</p> + +<p>"No, Corwin B., you did not. You can if you +want to, by coming down to my office, where it is +still lying in the packing-box it came in. I don't +think you want to. Gerard's story isn't there."</p> + +<p>"Its moral seems to be that women are a +nuisance," Isabel commented, her manner injured.</p> + +<p>"That would not be a moral, it would be a +falsehood," Gerard demurred. "No, I fancy the +moral might be, do not challenge Fate to a duel. +Are you considering our nonsense, Miss Rose?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of the story," Flavia amended. +"I was wondering if the kings would not soon +have filled the vase had they been content to mark +each happy hour, and whether a wise treasurer of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +happiness would not find a vase filled with seed-pearls +where they found a vase empty."</p> + +<p>"Exactly! You have found the secret, no +doubt. Moral: do not ask too much."</p> + +<p>"A day too much?" marvelled Corrie. "Why, +I expect a lifetime!" He flung back his head, +looking around the smiling circle. "Well, why +not? What's a lifetime, anyhow? Not half +enough to get all the fun there is in living, as long +as you do no harm by it. And who wants to do +any harm when there is so much else to do? Not +anyone in his right mind. Anyway, I've got to-day's +pearl canned, and <i>it</i> can't get away. And +I can think of lots of others I've had, if I could +go back for them."</p> + +<p>"Shall I guess the name of Al-Mansor's vase?" +Flavia asked, as she rose. She was smiling, but +her cheeks were flushed and her serious eyes +caressed her brother. "It was Memory, I think. +And, no, Corrie, the pearls put there cannot be +lost."</p> + +<p>The extreme warmth of the day had continued +into the evening. As Isabel followed Flavia across +the hall, Corrie overtook his cousin, wound a +scarf around her bare shoulders and lured her +out on the veranda. She yielded not unwillingly, +contrary to her recent custom of neglecting him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +and they disappeared together. Any such latent +project of Gerard's was prevented by Mr. Rose's +mood for chat, a mood not usual for him.</p> + +<p>"You are not looking much like the driver I +met on the way home, to-day," he informed his +guest, surveying Gerard quizzically, when they +were established in the drawing-room. "But I +didn't recognize my own son, for that matter. He +don't seem like mine, when he's out in those goblin +clothes driving like Satan in a hurry. It's sensible +enough for you, being in the automobile trade, but +for him it's just fool play."</p> + +<p>"He does it a little too well to call it that," +Gerard returned seriously.</p> + +<p>"Yes? Well, I've got money enough to pay +for it—although it's the most expensive game he's +found yet—or for anything else he fancies. I've +told him to amuse himself for a while. He is too +young to settle down to work, when there is no +need for it. I never had any playing time, and I +want to see him have his. And he has earned it, +too; I suppose he told you he was through college?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and amazed me."</p> + +<p>"He knew it had to be done, so he did it quickly +and without any nonsense. It's an old theory that +given liberty and money, a boy will go to ruin.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +I never believed it; I don't yet. And I never +saw why I should make my son a different set of +living rules from those I make for myself. Of +course, I don't mean there was no law in the house; +I don't think I spoiled Corrie. But I've left him +pretty free, only bidding him keep straight. That +I must have, and he knows it. He has got to keep +straight."</p> + +<p>A sudden grate like metal on metal roughened +the deliberate speech with a suggestion of grim +inflexibility. Flavia lifted vaguely startled eyes +to her father.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you need to worry about that," +reassured Gerard smiling. The echo of Corrie's +fresh young tones was in their ears, as he disputed +with his cousin, outside the windows at the end of +the room.</p> + +<p>"I guess not. He's too much like his mother." +Mr. Rose dropped his hand on Flavia's, as she +sat in her low chair beside him. "And she was +what they call an aristocrat, nowadays, but I called +a lady when I married her. Old family, gentle +breeding, the society end, and good looks like +my little girl's that seem too fine to touch; she +had all and everything except money. And I gave +her that."</p> + +<p>Flavia leaned nearer to her father with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +caressing confidence in mutual affection which +marked all the household intercourse and pervaded +the gorgeous pink villa like an actual fragrance +of atmosphere.</p> + +<p>"I gave her that. She liked to spend it. Not," +his keen eyes suddenly sprang challengingly to the +other man's, "Not that she married me for +money. Don't think it. My wife loved me. I +guess I struck her family like a cyclone; I was +self-made and used to my own way, at thirty, and +not uglier than my neighbors. Mrs. Tom Rose +was a happy woman, until she died, when Corrie +was two years old and Flavia four." He rose +bruskly and crossed the room. "You don't smoke, +Gerard? I always spoil a cigar when I talk."</p> + +<p>"I don't unless there's something wrong," +Gerard answered, tactfully casual. "A cigarette +helps, then. But everything is very right, now. +You know, these races are my holidays, although +they are an important business feature, too. My +factory affairs keep me hard at work most of the +year. Then in the intervals I am designing and +having constructed a genuine racing machine of +my own, much more powerful than the ninety +Mercury I'm driving now. I'm not an idle citizen, +really."</p> + +<p>Flavia's head drooped lower. He was telling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +her father these things as part of that steady +purpose whose object she felt herself; she knew +it, clairvoyantly acute.</p> + +<p>"You get a lot out of living," commented Mr. +Rose, coming back to his seat. "You enjoy it, +I'm thinking."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," Gerard replied candidly. "Why +not?"</p> + +<p>"You're right. Now, I want to tell you about +a deal I put through in the Street, to-day."</p> + +<p>Flavia moved to the piano and began to touch +the keys. She knew there would be only men's +talk for a while, and from this place she could +watch Gerard unseen. In all the previous days +she had avoided this, refusing to take cognizance +of the physical beauty upon which Isabel dilated, +half-unconsciously defending herself from an undefined +danger. She commenced to play pastel-toned +bits of Nevin and Chaminade, her clear eyes +delighting in free vision.</p> + +<p>Out on the veranda, Corrie was sustaining a +defense of his own. Upright against a column, +scarlet with determination, Isabel pursued the wilful +desire she had voiced at the dinner-table.</p> + +<p>"That Frenchwoman was around the course +with her husband, yesterday," she urged. "Other +women have done it before. Why won't you take +me?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You might get hurt. Father never would let +you."</p> + +<p>"He needn't know, stupid. You don't want to, +that's all. I'll ask Mr. Gerard; he'll like to take +me."</p> + +<p>The poison had been drawn from that sting, +but Corrie winced, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>"I <i>want</i> you, Isabel. I love you."</p> + +<p>"You're a boy; I'm a year older than you."</p> + +<p>"Eleven months!"</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, I'm a woman. I do what I choose, +while you're afraid to move for fear uncle will +catch you. What would he do, ferule your little +palms?"</p> + +<p>Furious, Corrie sprang across and dropped his +hands on her shoulders with the freedom of their +life-long intercourse.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to ferule yours," he gritted between +his set teeth. "I'm as much a man as you are a +woman. You haven't any <i>sense</i>. And there's no +use of your dangling after Allan Gerard, for he +don't want you—he said as much. I'm going in, +and I won't take you around the course."</p> + +<p>Gasping, Isabel let him reach the French +windows of the drawing-room before recovering +herself. Then she rushed in pursuit, tripping impatiently +over her long chiffon skirts.</p> + +<p>"Corrie—wait! Corrie!"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>He turned sullenly, secretly aghast at his own +temerity. But Isabel laid her hand on his sleeve +without anger.</p> + +<p>"You're more man than I thought," she +breathed. "I always liked you better than anyone +else, anyhow. Corrie, if you'd take me around +the course, early in the morning when no one here +knew, I believe you'd be almost grown up enough +to—to—be engaged."</p> + +<p>"Isabel!" he cried, fire kindling in his face. +"You would? You would?"</p> + +<p>"If I get my ride——"</p> + +<p>He seized her, boy-clumsily, and boy-like lavished +his impetuous kisses.</p> + +<p>"You'll get anything," he promised, half-choked +by excitement. "And everything. Oh, Isabel!"</p> + +<p>Flavia's delicate music flowed on and on. Before +Mr. Rose had finished his discussion, Corrie +and Isabel entered the room, and the evening ended +without any possibility of Gerard's resuming the +theme commenced in the fountain arcade.</p> + +<p>When the group separated for the night, Corrie +detained his sister at the foot of the wide, +gleaming stairs.</p> + +<p>"Don't rise early in the morning to give me +my coffee, Other Fellow," he said. "I shan't be +starting for the course at the usual time. I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +been working pretty steadily and I need to rest +for the race itself, day after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>She leaned across the bannister to him; the +two young faces framed in young ripples of bright +hair resembled each other very strongly in their +twin moods of exaltation and radiant, half-incredulous +happiness.</p> + +<p>"You do not feel unwell, dear? You have not +driven too much?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit. But I'm sleepy," he caught a +frond of a tall Madeiran fern that was placed +in its jardiniere on the step opposite him, winding +the satin-green strip over his finger, "honestly, all +in with sleepiness, and I'm going to sleep to-night +as if it was the last quiet night's sleep I'd ever +get. See you to-morrow, kid sister."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, dearest."</p> + +<p>So, since she was not to give Corrie his morning +coffee, she would not give Gerard's to him +or see him until his return from the race course. +As a matter of course, it was not to be contemplated +that she should rise at dawn for a tête-à-tête +breakfast with the guest, at this period when +all the fine elements that composed their relation +hesitated at the point of crystallization. But she +scarcely regretted the postponed interview. It +would be better to meet each other differently, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +more leisure. He would come again to the fountain +arcade, where she watched for Corrie's return.</p> + +<p>When Flavia reached her own room, there stood +on her dressing-table a long silver-paper and filigree +box. Wondering, she raised the lid, to be +met with a gust of exquisite perfume and confronted +with a mass of frail yellow roses, lovely +with the quaint, virginal beauty of suggestion that +separates them from all their other-colored kin. +Across the glistening petals lay a cover cut from +a pocket dictionary, bearing written upon it one +sentence: "Definition of the meaning of Flavia +Rose."</p> + +<p>She laid her head beside the flowers, gold upon +gold. She, also, the fancy came to her, had placed +this day in the vase of Al-Mansor. But the day +to come outshone it, as a rosy pearl one merely +white.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," she whispered to herself. "To-morrow."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>VI</h2> +<h3>WRECK</h3> + +<p>Gray, sluggish, slow in coming and sullen of +aspect, a reluctant dawn succeeded the night. A +wet mist clung everywhere in the windless atmosphere, +muffling sound as well as light. There +was not even a servant stirring in the Rose house, +when Gerard descended the dark stairs and went +out into the chill, damp park.</p> + +<p>In the garage one bright point shone out; under +a swinging electric lamp Rupert was preparing +his machine to go out, a solitary figure in the +expanse of wavering shadows and dim bulks.</p> + +<p>"Where are Rose and his man?" Gerard questioned, +as he came across the floor.</p> + +<p>His voice rolled startlingly loud in the lofty, +echoing room. Moving to reply, the mechanician +let fall a tool and the crash repeated itself sharply +from every stone arch and angle.</p> + +<p>"Rose won't be out at the course till late; I +guess our peaceful life ain't what he's used to, +exactly. He 'phoned over last night to Dean, +who's sleeping yet."</p> + +<p>Gerard nodded, eyeing the Mercury racer with +affectionate attention.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right, is she?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Rupert straightened himself and proceeded to +close the hood.</p> + +<p>"I ain't supposing we'll need to be towed," he +conceded sarcastically. "But I'll put in a rope, +if you're worried bad, and take my copy of <i>Motor +Repairing at a Glance</i>."</p> + +<p>"Do," Gerard urged. "I'd like to have it +found on you, Rupert. Start her up, then, if +you're ready."</p> + +<p>He crossed, with the last word, to the shelf +where lay his racing mask and gauntlets. The +melancholy drip from moist eaves and trees, the +dreary half-light and heavy air had absolutely no +depressing power upon his flawless nerves and +vigor of life. By the open door he paused to +look out, unconsciously clasping his hands behind +his head with the leisurely grace and relaxation of +one who found pleasure in mere movement.</p> + +<p>"There'll be a wet course," Rupert's muffled +tones came from the opposite end of the room.</p> + +<p>"Well?" Gerard queried lazily. "What of +it?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Instead sounded the +click of moving throttle and spark, and the place +burst into thunderous tumult; violet flames darted +from the exhausts and enfolded the hood of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +vibrating car as it moved forward to its master's +side.</p> + +<p>"I don't like this morning, and I don't like +this course," stated Rupert, sombrely definite, +through the roar and rattle of irregular reports +from the cut-down motor. "But I guess I've got +to stand for them. Anyhow, I couldn't have a +classier Friday-the-thirteenth emotion equipment +if I had been to a voodoo fortune teller who had a +grudge against me. What are we waiting for?"</p> + +<p>Gerard lingered in taking his seat, his amazed +eyes travelling over the small, discontented dark +face of his companion.</p> + +<p>"Something's wrong, Rupert?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't saying so—yet."</p> + +<p>The driver's own expression shadowed slightly; +he looked again and more searchingly at the other. +In common with most men who had lived in the +tense atmosphere of the most dangerous form of +racing yet evolved, he had witnessed more than +one case where a presentiment did not fail of fulfilment. +Irrespective of whether catalogued as +coincidence, occult foresight or absurdity, the +facts did exist, occasionally to be read in the +prosaic columns of a newspaper, more often lost +except in camp annals. He knew, and Rupert +knew, of a mechanician who suddenly refused ab<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>solutely +to go out with the driver by whose side +he had ridden countless miles, having no better +reason than a disinclination for the trip. And +they both had seen the substitute who took his +place brought in dead, an hour later, after his +car's wreck. A widely-known victor of many +races, one of Gerard's close friends, had come to +shake hands with him in a state of causeless +nervousness that would have shamed a novice, just +before starting on the ride from which he never +returned. The price of debate is too high to argue +with some things; Gerard temporized.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to take you out feeling like that. +Give yourself a day off," he suggested. "I'll +find one of the factory men to go out with me +for the morning's practice."</p> + +<p>"Who's crazy now?" inquired his mechanician +acidly, and flung himself back in his narrow seat.</p> + +<p>The Mercury slipped through Mr. Rose's winding +drives, plunged into the sandy Long Island +road, and sped lurching toward the course.</p> + +<p>There was nothing dull or depressing about the +starting point, at the Motor Parkway. Before +the busy row of repair pits throbbed and panted +some of the cars, surrounded by their force of +workers; in other camps the men stood, watch in +hand, timing the machines already out. Reporters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +vibrated everywhere; surrounded by an admiring +group, two world-famous French and Italian +drivers were pitching pennies for the last cigarettes +from a box of special brand. Only the tiers +of empty seats in the grand-stand and the absence +of spectators in fields and parking-spaces distinguished +this practice morning from the actual +race.</p> + +<p>There was a general movement of greeting as +the Mercury rolled in and Gerard sprang out at +his own camp.</p> + +<p>"Where's your pink pet, Allan?" called a +driver, from the starting line. "What's up—mornin' +air too crude for millionaire kids?"</p> + +<p>"He <i>isn't</i> up," was the blithe reply. "Never +mind Rose, he's coming; tell me where you got +your five-cylinder machine, Jack."</p> + +<p>"A late Rose, eh? Oh, I've got six cylinders +here, all right, but I daren't run on all of them +now for fear my speed would make the rest of +you quit, discouraged. I'm goin' to make your +yesterday's record look like a last year's timetable, +this mornin'."</p> + +<p>"You look out that you don't break your neck. +Rupert says it's a hoodoo day. We don't want +you in the hospital twice this season."</p> + +<p>"Is Rupert sad?" questioned the big blonde<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +pilot of the neighboring camp, leaning over the +railing.</p> + +<p>"I ain't been so near it since I put my foot +in a hole and sprained my ankle ten minutes before +the start, when I was racing with Darling French +at Philadelphia," admitted the mechanician. "It +hurt me fierce."</p> + +<p>"Your ankle?"</p> + +<p>"No, seeing him start without me."</p> + +<p>"Say, Gerard, there's your pink Rambler," a +distant voice signified.</p> + +<p>About to send his car forward, Gerard paused +to glance over his shoulder, and caught the pink +flash behind a row of mist-draped trees edging the +cross-road. Sudden mischief curved his lips, his +amber eyes laughed behind their goggles.</p> + +<p>"Tell Corrie Rose I'll give him that game of +auto tag, if he happens along while I'm on a +straight stretch," he called across to one of Corrie's +men, by way of farewell.</p> + +<p>A little breeze stirred the mist, as the Mercury +shot down the course; the gray light was brightening +by slow gradations.</p> + +<p>There was small probability that Gerard's car +and the rose-colored machine would soon find themselves +together on the twelve-mile circuit, allowing +for their difference in starting time. But as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +Mercury turned into the straight stretch of back +road, on the second time around, there sounded a +sharp report, the car staggered perilously, and a +tire tore itself loose from a rear wheel to hurtle, +a vicious projectile of rubber and steel, far across +the stubble fields. Reeling, but held to its course +by the driver's trained hand, the Mercury slackened +its flight and was brought to a stop. Rupert +was already leaning over the back, dragging free +a spare tire; Gerard slipped out of his seat.</p> + +<p>For experts the task was not long. A white +car thundered past the workers, leaving a swirl +of dust and flying pebbles, its mechanician turning +to survey the halted Mercury. As Rupert swept +the last tool into its place with precise swiftness, +the throbbing of a second motor drifted to them, +a pink streak darted around a distant curve.</p> + +<p>"It's Corrie," identified Gerard. "Get in, +Rupert. If he wasn't forced by his money into +the amateur ranks, that boy would make some +of us work to keep our laurels, all right."</p> + +<p>The panther-agile figure swung into place beside +him.</p> + +<p>"I ain't a market gardener," Rupert drawled, +fitting one small foot in a strap support, as the +car leaped forward. "But I guess those plants +ain't apt to flourish in too rich soil."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Mercury did not gather speed too rapidly, +rather it lingered until the pink car bore close +down upon it.</p> + +<p>"How near?" suddenly demanded Gerard, +above the noise of the motor.</p> + +<p>The mechanician reconnoitred.</p> + +<p>"Hundred feet," he made report.</p> + +<p>"Wave to him."</p> + +<p>Rupert raised his hand obediently. The Mercury +sprang ahead under Gerard's touch, and with +an answering roar the rose-colored machine sped +in pursuit.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt that Corrie understood +the play; nor that his car was easily capable of +passing the sixty-mile an hour gait now held by +the Mercury. But he was not allowed to pass. +Each time he essayed it, the other racer swerved +in front and cut off the road.</p> + +<p>It was as dangerous a game as could well be +designed, had either driver been less skilled, but +it was safe enough now. Gerard was laughing as +he drove, when the first tiny missile rattled against +his car.</p> + +<p>"He's pitching spare bolts," shouted Rupert, +at his companion's ear, himself grimly amused. +"Peevish, ain't he?"</p> + +<p>Gerard nodded, and crossed the narrow road<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +with an unexpected turn that drew a baffled explosion +from the checked car behind. A brass +nut smacked the Mercury's gasoline tank. It was +not difficult to imagine Corrie's excited tempest of +defeat, to those who knew him.</p> + +<p>"The turn's ahead—we'll call it off there," +Gerard answered mirthfully. "Give her some oil."</p> + +<p>The two cars were rushing down the last half-mile +of straight road. Rupert was stooping to +reach the oil pump when the pink car made its +final attempt to pass and was again forced back, +but across his outstretched arm he glanced up to +Gerard, and glimpsed the last flying missile as it +came.</p> + +<p>"<i>Duck!</i>" he shouted harshly, "Look out——"</p> + +<p>There was no time for action. As Gerard turned +his head, the heavy steel wrench struck him below +the right temple. Even Rupert's swiftness was +too slow; the driver fell forward across his steering-wheel +before the mechanician could snatch it +from the inert grasp. With a lurch the speeding +Mercury caught in a rut, swerved from the +road and, leaping a yard-high embankment, +crashed through a row of trees to roll over and +over like a broken toy, scattering splintered wreckage +over the farmhouse enclosure beyond.</p> + +<p>The light breeze of half an hour earlier had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +freshened and gained strength, the pale-gray sky +was changing to delicate blue. When the horrified +knot of reporters and motor enthusiasts from the +nearby Westbury corner swarmed into the orchard +to join the pale-faced farmer already there, the +sun emerged brilliantly from a bank of clouds, +glinting across the heap of twisted metal and the +still figure that lay beneath it, illumining the +dishevelled, gasping mechanician who struggled +dizzily to rise from where he had been flung to +safety, fifty feet from the wreck.</p> + +<p>It is difficult for any group of men, however +willing, to work without a leader. While the +inexperienced rescuers stood hesitating on the +verge of action, Corrie Rose in his pink racing +costume sprang up the bank, his blue eyes burning +in his white face, his lips stained with blood +where his teeth had bitten through.</p> + +<p>"Get those logs, over there," he commanded +savagely. "The car's got to be jacked up. Hurry +up—do you want him to die under there? <i>Jump!</i>"</p> + +<p>His fiery energy ran through the men with a +vivifying shock. Torpor transformed to animation, +the grim work was attacked. Under Corrie's +brief orders they scattered in search of the logs, +a telephone, and such aid as the place afforded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +The farmer's wife assumed charge of the semi-conscious +Rupert, for whom no one else had time.</p> + +<p>Into the prim, staid country parlor they carried +Gerard, fifteen minutes later, and laid him +on a horse-hair couch under a square-framed lithograph +of <i>The Trial of John Knox</i>. A plush +photograph album was jostled on its marble table +by the driver's shattered mask and a glove upon +whose wrist still clung and ticked his miniature +watch, the flowered carpet was trampled under the +heedless feet and streaked with dull red here and +there.</p> + +<p>"They stopped here yesterday for some water," +sobbed the mistress of the house hysterically. +"Oh dear, dear! Pitching apples across the yard +at the little dark one, he was, and both of them +making fun."</p> + +<p>The rattling explosions of a motor cycle sounded +from without; the first of the emergency surgeons +to arrive ran up the steps and into the room, +stripping off his coat while appraising with keen +eyes the unconscious patient.</p> + +<p>"Get out, everyone," he directed concisely. +"Here, I want a helper—you, Rose?"</p> + +<p>Corrie, on his knee beside the couch, looked up +and dragged himself erect. Gerard's face was no +more drawn and colorless than his, but he an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>swered +to the call, as half an hour before he had +answered the demand of the situation for a guide.</p> + +<p>"I'll help," he consented, his voice hoarse. "I +deserve it."</p> + +<p>Before the surgeon's imperious gesture, the rest +of the men were retreating to leave the room, when +those nearest the door were suddenly thrust back. +Staggering, furious passion blazing in his +scratched and pain-twisted face, Rupert burst +across the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Alive?" he hurled the fierce question. "Alive? +What?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," snapped the surgeon. "Cut this sleeve, +Rose—gently! Clear out, you; the ambulance +men will take care of you when they get here."</p> + +<p>Rupert's haggard black eyes embraced the +scene, and encountered Corrie.</p> + +<p>"You——" he snarled, choking, and whirled to +face the witnesses, extending one slim shaking +hand toward the workers beside the couch. "Here, +I ain't supposing but that most of you are chasing +headlines for paper rags—print down that Allan +Gerard was killed by that man. I'm saying it; +Gerard cut him off from getting past, and he +pitched a wrench that knocked him out. Go down +to the course and you'll get the wrench to Mis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>souri +you, on the road. Rose knocked out Gerard +and our car ran wild."</p> + +<p>The concentrated vehemence and force of the +arraignment stupefied even the reportorial instinct. +Dazed, the hearers stared from the +mechanician's tattered, accusing figure to the pale +young driver who offered neither surprise nor defense, +but went steadily on with his unsteadying task.</p> + +<p>"He wrecked us——" Rupert made a limping +step forward. "Well? Did you guess I was +reciting this to put you to sleep? Why ain't you +taking him out of here? Put <i>his</i> mechanician +through the third degree and get his story—who +nailed you fast here? Why don't you <i>move</i>?"</p> + +<p>The scissors slipped tinkling to the floor from +Corrie's grasp. Livid with wrath, the surgeon +stood up.</p> + +<p>"Get out, all, and take that maniac with you," +he stormed. "Not a word; I don't care if Rose +has murdered all Long Island, he's some use now. +Clear out and leave this room quiet. Quick."</p> + +<p>He was obeyed, the nearest men drawing Rupert +into the retiring group, and the door closed.</p> + +<p>Outside, the reporters became themselves. +While ambulances dashed up, motor cycles, official +cars and private vehicles arrived to halt around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +the little house, the Mercury's mechanician was +hurried apart and his story coaxed from him in +detail.</p> + +<p>The last automobile to come up, an hour after +the accident, was a gilt-monogramed foreign +limousine. From it descended a gentleman who, +after a comprehensive glance over the disordered, +crowded orchard, crossed straight to where Rupert +sat hunched on a kitchen chair opposite the shattered +car.</p> + +<p>"Rupert," he appealed, catching the mechanician's +shoulder. "Rupert, what's been happening +here?"</p> + +<p>Very deliberately Rupert lifted his dark face, +its grimness not lessened by flecks and bars of +court-plaster; across the apathy of physical +exhaustion his black eyes gleamed vivid, hard +resolve.</p> + +<p>"Your son's finished Gerard, Mr. Rose," he +stated, monotonously explicit. "He slipped his +temper and fired a wrench at Gerard for not +giving him the road. It hit him, and we ran +wild without a driver till we struck here. Ask +him—he's in there with what's left of Gerard—why +he's sent Dean where he ain't to be found, +if I'm lying."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose released Rupert's shoulder, both men<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +equally oblivious of the pain his grasp had inflicted +on bruised flesh and muscle, and turned his +gray face to the surrounding group in dumb quest +of confirmation. Then, moving stiffly, he walked +toward the house.</p> + +<p>There was an authority in his bearing that +gained him unopposed entrance. In the hall, +nauseating with the ominous odor of antiseptics, +he was met by one of the doctors.</p> + +<p>"You can turn my house into a hospital," Mr. +Rose said briefly. "I want Gerard taken there +instead of to your places. You can have all the +money you like."</p> + +<p>The man looked at the card presented, his professional +impassivity flickering, but shook his +head.</p> + +<p>"He would better not be moved at all, sir; +at least, not to-day. He can be asked, if you +wish."</p> + +<p>"He is conscious, then?"</p> + +<p>"Just about," he shrugged, reaching for the +door. "Here, if you care to go in."</p> + +<p>The room was glaring with light, the lace curtains +were dragged wide apart from the windows +and the shades rolled high. Idle now in the +presence of more skilled attendants, but recognized +as one who had earned the right to be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +there, Corrie stood near the foot of the improvised +bed, leaning against the wall with his fair head +slightly bent. At the sound of the door he turned +that way, as Mr. Rose stopped on the threshold.</p> + +<p>The snapping latch, or some more subtle influence, +aroused someone else. Slowly Gerard's heavy +lashes lifted, and he saw father and son looking +at each other across the parlor strewn with the +tragic litter of the last hour's work. There was +nothing to interrupt the triple regard; it endured +long, with steadfast intensity.</p> + +<p>In a corner two surgeons were holding a subdued +consultation, a third was busied at the marble +table, the attention of all fully engaged.</p> + +<p>"Put a pillow under my head, someone," suddenly +bade the shadow of Allan Gerard's voice, +across the hush. "And give me a cigarette."</p> + +<p>There was a startled flurry in the room. Familiar +enough with the last request from his masculine +patients, the man at the table took a case +from his own pocket and, lighting one of the +cigarettes, stooped over the bed.</p> + +<p>"Keep your grip on yourself," he approved +brusquely. "But don't move."</p> + +<p>It was in his left hand that Gerard took the +tiny narcotic, his right arm and shoulder were a +mere bulk of splints and linen bandages.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thanks," his difficult voice spoke again. +"Now open that door and let everyone in—I want +to talk to them."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Gerard!"</p> + +<p>His clear eyes, dark with suffering but absolutely +collected, met the surgeon's.</p> + +<p>"I've got to talk to them, doctor, and I may +be out of my head or in a box, to-morrow. Let +them in—the reporters, I mean."</p> + +<p>The listeners gazed at each other, a shock ran +through the group. Every man there knew +Rupert's story of the accident, every man guessed +that it was Gerard's own version that was to be +given now. Someone offered Mr. Rose one of the +horse-hair chairs, during the moment of rearrangement +before the youngest of the doctors +left the room. Only Corrie remained unmoved, not +changing his position or looking at Gerard. There +was a certain dignity of utter quiescence in his +pose that comprehended neither defiance nor submission, +but a strange, aloof patience.</p> + +<p>The representative reporters from the city +journals filed in, avidly expectant. With them +came two officials of the racing association, and +a metallic-eyed man whose plain clothes were contradicted +by the badge visible under his coat. +There was silent orderliness; the grim significance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +of the room, the presence of the watchful surgeons, +the central figure of the driver so well known to +all of those who entered, were subduing to the +least sensitive. Nor was the effect less hushing +because of that other driver who attended in the +background, the strong sunlight shining on his +glistening pink garb and still face.</p> + +<p>Gerard let fall the hand holding the cigarette, +when the company was complete, and slowly turned +his brown head on the pillow to face them.</p> + +<p>"You newspaper men have been first-class to +me for a good while; it's my chance to reciprocate +now," he asserted. "Well, I'll give what copy I +can. I know you want it, boys—you've often been +after me for less."</p> + +<p>The familiar gayety rippled above his aching +effort of speech, his will locked to composure each +rebellious line of expression. No one stirred in +the room.</p> + +<p>"I wish it were a better yarn. But when two +tires blow out at the same time, while a car's +turning——"</p> + +<p>This time, there was a general sigh of quick-drawn +breath. Mr. Rose stood up.</p> + +<p>"When two tires let go, at ninety miles an +hour, there's apt to be a wreck. I——" his lashes +fell wearily. "I couldn't hold the machine to the +road. The shock broke my control—there's no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +one to blame but me——" The cigarette crumpled +in his clenching fingers, his straight brows knotted.</p> + +<p>"Gerard," burst forth the racing official, excitedly +urgent in his suspense. "Your tires +wrecked you? That's your last word? Gerard, +if you can speak, do!"</p> + +<p>The amber eyes re-opened in answer, to meet +the fixed gaze of the eager men who waited opposite.</p> + +<p>"Yes," gasped Gerard, casually definite. +"What else? Corrie, leave me your smokes, +they're a better brand——"</p> + +<p>If there had been any doubt left the witnesses, +that comrade request beat it down. The surgeon +flung out his hand in a sweeping gesture of dismissal, +as he sprang toward his fainting patient. +Gerard had finished.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose went out with the other men. Some +of his florid color had come back, he walked +more firmly and his face had relaxed to naturalness. +On the narrow porch the referee from the +racing association held out his hand with frank +congratulation.</p> + +<p>"Glad poor Gerard set matters right before +they got any further, Mr. Rose. It sounded +nasty, for a while. The mechanician struck his +head in the upset, I fancy; I've seen a man run +half a mile across country, crazy as a loon, after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +being pitched out on his head in a sand-bank. +They'd better get Jack Rupert into bed and +keep him quiet; he'll wake up to-morrow sane as +ever. Nice way your son took it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Corwin B. is straight," declared Mr. Rose, +proudly self-contained in his relief. "I guess +there wasn't much need to worry about that part. +I'll wait here and take him home with me, now; +he's had about all of that room he ought to stand, +fond of Gerard as he is."</p> + +<p>"He looked done up, yes. Well——"</p> + +<p>A long shout sounded down the course, a clamor +of excited speech. A troup of men appeared, +running toward the house in the wake of a chauffeur +who held up some object that glittered in +the sun.</p> + +<p>"I've got it!" the leader called ahead. "I've +got it where he said, beside the road!"</p> + +<p>The thing in his hand was a small, heavy nickel +wrench. The men on the porch and the men in +the yard stared at each other, mute. After a +moment Mr. Rose drew out his handkerchief, +passed it across his forehead and lips, then went +down to his limousine, got in and sank back against +the cushions.</p> + +<p>"Home," he issued his order.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Corwin is not coming, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Home."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>VII</h2> +<h3>"THE GREATEST OF THESE"</h3> + +<p>It was nearly two hours after the Mercury +car had crashed into ruin under the aromatic +apple-trees, before knowledge of the disaster came +to Flavia. Breakfast was over, at least the breakfast +of Mr. Rose and his daughter; no other +member of the family had appeared. A maid +reported that Isabel had ordered her horse and +had departed on an early ride to the neighboring +golf club, where she was engaged to play with an +equally athletic college girl, that morning. There +was nothing to disturb the customary pleasant +routine or to suggest uneasiness. At the usual +hour Mr. Rose left for the city; he was on his +way to New York when he first caught the rumor +that sent him instead to the farmhouse at Westbury.</p> + +<p>Flavia, roseate, softly irradiated, moving in an +atmosphere of undefined expectation as difficult +to breathe calmly as the rarefied air of a mountain-top, +had held herself to the accomplishment +of her daily charges. She was seated at her little +white-and-gold desk in her white-and-gold study,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +setting the household affairs in order for the +day with the dainty precision of all her methods, +when Isabel came into the room and stopped upright +and rigid, near the door.</p> + +<p>"You had better hear it now," the younger +girl dully announced. "There has been an +accident on the course."</p> + +<p>Flavia's hands flew over her heart, the room +blackened.</p> + +<p>"Corrie——" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"No; Mr. Gerard. He is alive, that's all I +know."</p> + +<p>The scent of the yellow roses Flavia had put +in her hair dilated to a stifling heaviness that +hindered breath; she covered her eyes with her +small cold fingers, seeking the dark, mute under +torture. He was alive—that niggard concession +was made to Allan Gerard, whose rich fullness +of vigor and dominant presence last night had +seemed the one firm reality in a world of pleasant +vagueness. Weak, conscious of nothing but what +her inward vision showed, she lay in her chair; +questioning no more, making no sign.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Isabel, the self-assured, evenly poised +Isabel, was on the floor at her cousin's knees, burying +her face in Flavia's pale-yellow dress and +sobbing in frantic hysteria.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Flavia, Flavia, I can't bear it! I am afraid, +I am afraid—if he should die——"</p> + +<p>Shocked back into strength, Flavia bent over +her, soothing and caressing with soft touches and +inarticulate phrases of affection.</p> + +<p>"Hush, dear, hush! Put your head here. Let +me call Martha; you frighten me, Isabel!"</p> + +<p>The tempest did not last long. As abruptly as +she had lost self-command, Isabel regained it. +Rising to her feet, she swept back the disordered +auburn curls from her flushed face and stood silent +beside the desk, in a state approaching exhaustion. +She was wearing a dark riding-habit soiled with +dust and stained in several places with oil or +grease, her high-laced boots were scratched and +sand-covered. But Flavia was beyond notice of +costume and saw only her cousin's sullen misery +of expression.</p> + +<p>"Dear, you loved him," escaped her, in her +double compassion for the woman whom Gerard +had not chosen.</p> + +<p>Isabel's gray eyes were crossed by a spark.</p> + +<p>"No—I <i>hate</i> him!" she flared viciously. +"What did he do it for? He had no right. He, +he——" She pressed her drenched handkerchief +hard against her lips. "Corrie, poor Corrie——"</p> + +<p>Flavia shrank, commencing to tremble before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +a looming premonition of something still worse +to be endured.</p> + +<p>"What of Corrie? Isabel, what?"</p> + +<p>"You will hear soon enough," she assured bitterly. +"I've said all I can. No—don't ask me, +don't follow me. They will tell you downstairs. +I'm going."</p> + +<p>Downstairs, meant the servants. Flavia Rose +was, above all things, maiden-proud; as Gerard's +fiancée, as Gerard's wife, no cost of pain or +humiliation would have kept her from him. But +she was neither. She had only her own interpretation +of his mirthful glances and graceful +speech, only a few yellow roses to hint that he +did not regard her as the most casual of friends. +Suppose she had been mistaken, suppose he had +meant only courtesy to a hostess whose youth +exacted gallantry?</p> + +<p>Isabel had gone. Flavia turned her face to +a diminutive mirror lying among the trifles on +her desk. Could she go down to the curious +servants so—pale, quivering and emotion-spent? +Even as she looked into her own reflected eyes, +the tears at last overflowed.</p> + +<p>It was half an hour later before Flavia, quiet, +dignified and only betrayed by her absolute pallor, +trusted herself to descend the stairs.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Rose house was too near the race course, +too intimately concerned in the drama, for the +information she sought not to be already rife +gossip there. When Mr. Rose came home, near +noon, he had little left to tell his daughter except +Gerard's condition and his defense of Corrie.</p> + +<p>"Then Corrie did not hurt him," she grasped +the exquisite relief.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose shook his head, reluctantly discouraged +and discouraging. He had not gone to the +city during those intervening hours; he never, +then or afterward, spoke of where he had been or +what he had felt.</p> + +<p>"There was the wrench," he heavily reminded +her. "And where has he sent Dean, who must +have seen all that happened and could have given +Gerard's mechanician the lie? I've not seen Corrie +except across the room," the recollection of +that ghastly room broke the speech. "We have +got to wait until he comes home to answer."</p> + +<p>Flavia slipped her hand into his, nestling to +him, and he put his arm about her. Both were +remembering Corrie's brief, simoon-hot tempers, +his hasty tongue and ready hand—and swift repentances. +Had an occasion come when the repentance +was too late, too vain! And what repentance! +To the sister who knew with life-long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +knowledge the ardent, passionate Corrie, his young +rigidity in honor and high pride, his tenacious +affections, this menaced downfall was almost as +appalling as his death. She thrust the possibility +from her with revolted condemnation of herself +for crediting this libel, this slander of her brother. +What had he ever done to justify such a belief?</p> + +<p>"Papa, he could not!" she defended. "Corrie +could not. Not, not <i>Corrie</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I hope not, my girl."</p> + +<p>Something in his tone, some quality she did +not recognize, brought her gaze to his face with +a fresh dread. What would it mean to Thomas +Rose, if this were true of his son? And what +would the change in Thomas Rose mean to Corrie?</p> + +<p>The early autumn dusk had fallen and the lamps +were lit, when Corrie came home. The routine +of the household had gone on through the long +day; under the eye of convention, Flavia and +Mr. Rose had dressed for dinner and now sat together +in the drawing-room, each holding an unread +book. But at the closing of the outer door +both started erect, pretense forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Corrie!" his father summoned. Not Corwin +B.; by a trick of usage the nickname had become +formal, the formal name a playfulness not to be +spoken now.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> + +<p>Corrie came quietly between the velvet curtains. +He still wore the pink racing costume, +its hue in marked contrast to his worn young +face. That one day had drawn white lines about +his boyish mouth and set black circles under his +blue eyes. As if feeling himself on trial, he stopped +just within the room and stood with the quiescent +endurance that he had shown in the farmhouse +parlor and which sat so strangely upon him.</p> + +<p>"First—Gerard?" required Mr. Rose hardly. +"You've been there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. They say he will live."</p> + +<p>"Live! What——"</p> + +<p>"They say he will never drive again."</p> + +<p>Flavia cried out faintly, grasping the arms of +her chair, and there was a pause.</p> + +<p>"I've heard Rupert's story, and I've heard +Gerard's," slowly pronounced Mr. Rose. "I +haven't heard yours, yet. Nor I haven't learned +that anyone has. What wrecked Gerard's car?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Corrie's breathing quickened +slightly, but he neither moved nor spoke, +nor lifted his eyes to the two who watched him. +After moments, Mr. Rose put out his hand and +pushed away a tinted electric lamp from which +the light fell too strongly on his face.</p> + +<p>"Rupert isn't lying," he asserted. "He might<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +be crazy. If he is, say so. I saw your nickel +wrench picked up, myself, and a dozen people +along the line saw you and Gerard racing just +before the smash. Where is your mechanician, +Dean? What has he got to say? It looks bad, +your hiding him."</p> + +<p>"He was not with me," Corrie replied, his voice +oddly smothered.</p> + +<p>"Not with you? Rupert talks of seeing him +beside you in the car."</p> + +<p>"Rupert is mistaken. Dean was not yet out +at the course and I started alone. Ask the men +at my camp and the race officials; they will tell +you that I took out my machine without a mechanician."</p> + +<p>"Then Rupert is crazy? Gerard told the +truth? Speak out! Are you afraid or sulky?"</p> + +<p>This time the lash took effect. Corrie moved +sharply and spoke.</p> + +<p>"I am not going to talk," he declared definitely. +"Nor ought you to ask it of me, sir. If you +don't know how I loved Allan Gerard, if you can't +feel that I would rather have killed myself than +hurt him and would have turned my car against +a stone wall sooner than see to-day, there is no +use of my saying it. I don't care what anyone +thinks or says. I stood the worst that can come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> +to me when I helped his surgeons to-day and heard +him clear me——I'm going to my room; you +needn't fear I'll run away."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose was across the room before his son +could leave it, gripping the satin-clad shoulder.</p> + +<p>"You'll keep what Gerard lied to give you," +he promised with inexorable menace. "And that's +what is left of your reputation. You'll neither +run nor skulk in your room; you'll go dress +for dinner and come down here and eat it. We'll +have no scenes. The medicine you have got to +take is nothing to the black dose Gerard has to +swallow."</p> + +<p>"Papa!" Flavia appealed, unheard.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," Corrie answered simply.</p> + +<p>On the wide landing of the staircase Flavia +overtook her brother. There was just one thing +she could say to him, must and would always +have to say whatever his faults or the rest of +the world's condemnation.</p> + +<p>"I love you," she panted, clasping her little +hands around his arm. "Corrie, it is hurting you +so! I love you, let me come."</p> + +<p>Under the soft hall-lights he turned to her, +blue eyes meeting blue eyes; then for the first +time in their lives he took her in his arms with +a man's touch and kissed her.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You stick close, Other Fellow," he said unsteadily. +"I'm pretty lonesome; you're a help. +But don't come now."</p> + +<p>Pretty lonesome. Yes, that expressed the +atmosphere of aloofness, the air of being suddenly +walled around and set apart, that now marked the +impulsive and social Corrie. It was with him +when he came down to the dreary dinner, an +hour later.</p> + +<p>The one who failed to play out the wretched +farce of customary life was Isabel. She kept +her room, alleging illness, and did not appear +to lend aid to the evening which the three spent +in silent endurance of one another and their own +thoughts. The very surroundings insisted on the +image of Gerard; a book he had been reading +lay open on the table, the music he preferred was +waiting on the piano rack. At nine o'clock, unable +to bear more, Flavia rose, hurriedly pleading fatigue. +Corrie also rose with her to retire, +or to escape.</p> + +<p>"Wait," his father bade, at his movement, laying +down a newspaper. "You will not be out +with your automobile, to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Corrie looked at him without rebellion or surprise, +unflinching from the decision.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shall never drive a racing car again, sir," +was his quiet statement.</p> + +<p>And only Gerard could have gauged what that +renunciation cost his fellow-driver.</p> + +<p>Gerard, at that hour, was not conscious of many +things. The night that was long at the rose-colored +villa, was longer yet in the little farmhouse. +But when the first pale light of dawn +made the parlor windows grow into glimmering +squares of gray, the patient suddenly spoke out +of what was rather stupor than sleep.</p> + +<p>"'And the greatest of these is charity?'" he +said strongly and clearly.</p> + +<p>The nurse hurried to his side, but it was many +moments before he again aroused and asked for +Rupert.</p> + +<p>"Now, and alone," he insisted, when she demurred, +urging rest.</p> + +<p>Even in his helplessness he was compelling. The +nurse went in search of Rupert, who had kept +vigil in the kitchen, scoffing at the suggestion of +bed while that battle was being waged in the other +room.</p> + +<p>Gerard turned his fever-burnished eyes upon +his small mechanician's sullen face, when that +visitor entered. Both men understood perfectly +well the contest of wills about to ensue. Both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +were coolly determined and prepared with the fine +weapon of mutual knowledge of one another.</p> + +<p>"There's a silver case on the table; get me a +cigarette and light it, will you?" requested Gerard, +in his low, unsure voice.</p> + +<p>Rupert complied. He had not altogether escaped, +himself, with mere scratches; he limped as +he came across to place the cigarette in the languid +fingers.</p> + +<p>"I guess there ain't any special need to ask +if it's hurting bad, when you're wanting these +dopes," he drew grim inference. "Here."</p> + +<p>"It is, all the time. Thanks. I didn't bring +you here to talk about that, when you should be +asleep, though. Rupert, no more is to be said +about Corrie Rose. There has been too much +of that already, I can see."</p> + +<p>Rupert's black eyes hardened and narrowed to +lines of glinting jet.</p> + +<p>"I've got the truth stripped down to running +facts, carrying no trimmings, and I'm demonstrating +it to everybody I meet," he imparted dryly. +"And I mean to keep on. I know what you want, +all right, and I ain't intending to do it. Let him +stand for what is coming to him."</p> + +<p>Gerard lifted his cigarette, seeking the narcotic +smoke. His superb vitality and undrained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +youth had turned upon him like traitorous servants +upon a fallen master, denying him surcease in +unconsciousness and holding him as a sensitive +instrument for pain to run its gamut upon.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he queried.</p> + +<p>"Because I want to see him get his. You +don't? I do. I guess my say goes, this time. +I ain't enjoying being sore wherever I ain't worse, +but I'd go out and take another smash like we had +to-day to see him wearing zebra clothes in a jail. +Missing that, I'll make that pink millionaire palace +red-hot and get him ruled off every race course +in the country."</p> + +<p>"Rupert——"</p> + +<p>The mechanician's gesture cut off protest.</p> + +<p>"There ain't any use! I mean it."</p> + +<p>"You liked Corrie——"</p> + +<p>"I ain't noticing it, now. When you were behind +the steering-wheel, your say so was what +happened—if you'd said to light the gasoline tank, +I'd have struck a match. That's business. This +ain't. Rose stands for what he did, for I'm free +to put it through."</p> + +<p>"Very true; I am helpless," Gerard acquiesced, +his white lips compressed, and averted his head on +the pillow.</p> + +<p>Checked, Rupert stared at the other with many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +shifting expressions twitching his own angry dark +face.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what the doctors say?" he +demanded, at last. "Are you knowing, when +you ask me to let Rose off, what he's done to +you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the laconic answer.</p> + +<p>There was no retort to that all-sufficient brevity. +None was attempted.</p> + +<p>The windows had gradually paled from gray to +white, streaks of gold caught and reflected in the +glass panes as the sun drew up above the horizon. +All night the air had been filled with a steady +murmur and dull flow of sound, unobserved because +of its very continuity. Now, across the +hush of the sick room unexpectedly crashed a +roar of rapid explosions, growing thunderous as +it approached nearer; cheers of joyous excitement +pealed from many throats. Gerard started, +his eyes blazing wide.</p> + +<p>"The race," flung the mechanician bitterly. +"It's on."</p> + +<p>Gerard slowly raised his left arm and dropped +it across his face as those who yesterday were +his mates rushed past the house. With the movement +a spot of crimson sprang into view against +the linen swathing his shoulder, enlarging omi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>nously, +but even the alarmed Rupert knew this was +no time to summon doctor or nurse, whatever the +physical cost.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think?" Gerard presently asked, +quite gently and naturally, "that I've got enough +to stand, Rupert?"</p> + +<p>The sound that broke from the vanquished +mechanician was less cry than curse.</p> + +<p>"I'll shut up!" he cast his submission before +the victor. "I ain't going to lie—I'd choke—but +I'll hold my tongue. Don't ask more or I'll take +back that. You've got me down; I'll shut up."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>VIII</h2> +<h3>AFTERMATH</h3> + +<p>The newspapers were mercifully brief upon the +subject of the unsupported accusation brought +against Corrie Rose, although diffuse enough in +accounts of the much-known Gerard's disaster. +The driver's own explanation of his accident was +accepted; his attitude towards the young amateur +fixed the attitude of the public. Moreover, Jack +Rupert was stricken suddenly dumb; no reportorial +blandishments could obtain from him, on the +second day, so much as an admission of the +charges made by him on the day previous. Rupert +surrendered like a gentleman: he laid down all his +weapons. Dean's appearance at his usual duties +and explanation of his absence from the pink car +quashed the last rumor, for the finding of a wrench +beside a motor course meant nothing, considered +alone.</p> + +<p>The first things for which Mr. Rose looked each +morning were the daily papers. After which, he +invariably shot a glance of blended relief and +smarting humiliation into the wide, earnest eyes +of Flavia, as she sat opposite him behind the gold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +coffee-service, and addressed himself to his breakfast. +He never looked towards his son at that +moment, nor did Corrie ever break the ensuing +silence. The change that had fallen upon Allan +Gerard's life was scarcely more absolute and +strange than that which had come upon the Rose +household of innocent ostentation and intimate +gayety.</p> + +<p>But the greatest outward alteration was in +Isabel. Flavia and Mr. Rose maintained the usual +calm routine of events at home and abroad, Corrie +rigidly obeyed his father's command to live so as +to provoke no comment. But Isabel's boasted, +perfect nerves were shattered beyond such control. +She moped all day in her own room, rejecting +Flavia's companionship, and fled from Corrie with +unconcealed avoidance. Nor did she improve, as +the days passed, but rather grew worse in condition.</p> + +<p>It was in the sixth week after the accident +whose echoes threatened to linger so long, that +Isabel entered her cousin's study, one afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Flavia, I am going away," she abruptly announced. +"Mrs. Alexander has asked me to go +South with Caroline and her, you know. Uncle +says I may do as I like, and I am going. I +can't bear it here," her full lip quivered.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>Flavia turned from the window by which she +had been standing, catching and crushing a fold +of the drapery in her small fingers as she faced +the other girl.</p> + +<p>"You mean that you cannot bear Corrie," she +retorted, in swift reproach. "You treat him—<i>how</i> +you treat him! You hardly speak to him, you +hardly look at him. Oh, you are cruel, you will +not see how he suffers for one moment's fault."</p> + +<p>Isabel grasped a chair-back, commencing to +tremble.</p> + +<p>"I can't bear to stay," she repeated hysterically. +"Don't talk to me about Corrie."</p> + +<p>"I never will again," Flavia assured, pale with +extreme anger. "Yet you might remember that +he loves you; a little kindness from you would +help him so much. Do you know where he spent +yesterday? He was out in his motor boat; out +in November with a north gale blowing, alone in +that speed-boat that is half under water all the +time. You do not care, you have no pity."</p> + +<p>"I——"</p> + +<p>Flavia imposed silence with a gesture, herself +quite unconscious of how overwhelming was this +contrast to her usual gentleness.</p> + +<p>"He has done wrong—you have nothing to +give him but more punishment. Yes, go away,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +that is best. But he would have been kinder to +you, Isabel."</p> + +<p>Isabel let go of the chair, her gray eyes dilating +unnaturally. Her gaze dwelling on Flavia, she +slowly retreated a few steps towards the door, +then suddenly turned and fled, leaving no answer.</p> + +<p>With her going, Flavia's passion died, something +like fear taking its place. That was what Corrie +had felt, reflected Corrie's sister; a sweep of +flame-like anger that blinded judgment, a slipping +of self-mastery that loosed hand or tongue. Only, +she had not wanted to hurt Isabel, that was a +point she could not conceive reaching, herself.</p> + +<p>When she had somewhat recovered, Flavia went +to find her furs and outdoor apparel. She knew +where Corrie had gone; she would meet him and +herself break the tidings of his cousin's coming +departure. He would be walking; he had not +touched an automobile since he left the seat of +his pink racer to rescue Gerard from beneath the +crushed Mercury, and he had no patience with +horses.</p> + +<p>It was on a bleak, sandy stretch of Long Island +road that she met Corrie, a solitary figure against +the flat landscape as he came towards her. At +sight of her little carriage and the cream-colored +ponies he himself long before had taught her to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +drive, he stopped, his boyish face brightening +warmly.</p> + +<p>"Other Fellow," was all he said, when she +leaned towards him with her unaltering love of +glance and smile.</p> + +<p>There was no need to ask where he had been.</p> + +<p>"How is Mr. Gerard, dear?" she ventured, +after he was seated beside her and they had commenced +the return.</p> + +<p>"Better."</p> + +<p>"You go there every day to ask?"</p> + +<p>"Every day."</p> + +<p>"And, he——"</p> + +<p>"He has seen me every day, even the worst. +He talks about politics, the aviation meet, the +motor magazines,—about everything except himself +or me. It is his right arm, now, the other +hurts are almost well. To-day I met the doctor, +going out as I was coming in. I asked about +him——"</p> + +<p>Flavia raised her eyes to meet his, shrinking +from the verdict that speech must establish beyond +the refuge of doubt. Very gently he laid +his hand over hers upon the reins and brought +the ponies to a standstill.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember this place, Flavia? Well, +all that is over for him."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<p>Beside them sloped away a brown, frost-seared +field; in its centre still showed the outline of a +baseball diamond, with the bags forgotten at the +bases. Flavia's heart contracted sharply, the +reins escaped her grasp. For the moment memory +and vision fused; she saw the straight, slender +pitcher poised with arms raised above his brown +head, saw his laughing glance go questing down +the field, and the swift, graceful movement that +launched the ball with unerring unexpectedness. +And because she could not speak without inadvertently +lashing Corrie, she sat mute.</p> + +<p>She did not know how long it was before he +spoke, with the new steady seriousness so strange +to meet in him.</p> + +<p>"Where are we getting to, Other Fellow? Because +we have got to get somewheres, you know; +we don't stand still. Gerard will go away to his +own home, soon. You and father and Isabel and +I can't just sit here looking at each other, like +we've been doing."</p> + +<p>Gerard would go away, soon. That was the +sentence that gripped Flavia. Go, without seeing +her, without pursuing the purpose he had shown +her in the fountain arbor? It seemed so impossible +that the thrill that shook her was not of +fear, but of startled expectancy. Yet she answered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +Corrie with scarcely a pause, and with all tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Dear, Isabel will not be here, for a little +while," she told him, hesitatingly. "She is going +South with Mrs. Alexander and Caroline. She, +she needs the change."</p> + +<p>"That's good," he approved. "She will be +better off, away from here, and you will be better +for her going. She worries us all with her fidgets."</p> + +<p>Amazed, Flavia turned in her seat to regard +him.</p> + +<p>"Corrie!"</p> + +<p>"You thought I would mind?" He smiled +whimsically. "Flavia, I've had a lot of nonsense +knocked out of me. It took a bad shock to cure +me of Isabel, but I'm well. There's nothing left +of that. In fact, I feel all full of holes where +ideas have been jolted out of me—I feel rather +empty."</p> + +<p>The beautiful foreign motor car had +stolen along the road so silently that neither +brother nor sister perceived its approach until +the grind of applied brakes sounded beside the +stopped carriage.</p> + +<p>"I should have supposed that there'd be views +in the countryside more pleasant to this family<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +than that field," caustically observed Mr. Rose. +"You can take the machine on home, Lenoir; I'll +drive with Miss Rose."</p> + +<p>He descended, the chauffeur stooping to open +the door, while Corrie and Flavia looked on, too +much surprised to find reply.</p> + +<p>"Keep your seat," he curtly ordered, as his +son rose to yield the place beside Flavia. "I'll +get up here. Drive ahead, my girl."</p> + +<p>He took the rear seat of the little carriage, +resting his arm on the cushioned back so that +his strong, square-set head was between the two +who sat in front. The automobile obediently sped +on, and only the beat of the ponies' hoofs interrupted +the chill afternoon hush for the first half-mile.</p> + +<p>"It's a long time since I found out that you +had some points that I didn't just understand, +Corrie," Mr. Rose stated, his matter-of-fact accents +carrying a deliberate finality. "I didn't wonder, +nor I didn't try to force you to fit my pattern; +we were solid friends and I was willing to take +on faith your ways of being different. Once in a +while I'd bring you on the carpet when you got +across the line, not often. You were given about +everything you wanted and only told that you +must keep straight. You haven't done it."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>An odd shiver ran through Corrie, but he said +nothing.</p> + +<p>"This isn't a theatre; there won't be any talk +of cutting you off with a shilling or any other +kind of child's talk. What we have got to do +is to make the best of a bad thing. You will +have to go away for a year or two, keep apart +from automobile racing and automobile people, and +live gossip down. Poor Gerard did his best for +you—God knows why—but there are rumors +whispered around yet. It would have looked like +running away to go before; now, Gerard is out +of danger. Well?"</p> + +<p>"I have been thinking that I should like to go +away for a time, sir," Corrie answered, gravely +self-contained.</p> + +<p>"Very good. To speak out, it will be better +for our future living together if you're not in +my sight for a while now. If we stay housemates, +there is likely to be another kind of a +crash, and two crashes don't mend a break. You'll +have all the money you want and I don't care +where you go or how much you spend. Just put +in a year as well as you can, until we all settle +down and go on again. We have got a lifetime +before us to get through."</p> + +<p>After a moment Corrie quietly took the reins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +from Flavia; blinded by tears, she was letting +the ponies stray at will.</p> + +<p>The brief November day was ending; it was +dusk when they reached the house, and perhaps +none of the three were ungrateful for the shadows +which veiled them from one another. On the +veranda, Corrie detained his sister, allowing Mr. +Rose to enter alone.</p> + +<p>"I'm not coming in just yet, Other Fellow," +he said. "Ask father to excuse me from dinner; +I have an errand that cannot wait. I don't want +you to worry about me or to be unhappy. I did +a lot of thinking yesterday, out in the speed-boat +by myself; I know what I am going to do and +that I will put up the best fight I can. Go help +father; don't fret over me."</p> + +<p>He kissed her soft mouth with the man's firmness +so different from his former casual caresses, +and went down the broad steps, walking across the +lawns in the direction from which they had just +come.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>IX</h2> +<h3>THE HOUSE AT THE TURN</h3> + +<p>Dinner at the Rose house took place about +two hours after the corresponding meal occurred +at the farmhouse near the Westbury Turn. So +while Corrie was walking through his five miles +of desolate, dark road, the evening became well +under way in the country parlor; sick-room no +longer.</p> + +<p>There had been changes in the room since +Gerard's occupancy of it. Bright rugs and coverings +mitigated the severity of the horse-hair +furniture, a couple of easy-chairs stood there like +velvet-clad cavaliers in a Puritan meeting. If the +hues ran to vivid scarlets and unexpected contrasts, +why, Rupert had done the shopping and +had consulted his own taste. In the midst of his +artistic work, that one-time mechanician and self-installed +nurse of Gerard's was now seated beside +a red-shaded lamp, engaged in reading aloud to +his companion from a classic found on the family +book-shelf.</p> + +<p>"'Thaddeus, his eyes cast down, glided from +the room in a gentle suffusion of tears,'" he con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>cluded +a paragraph, and broke off, stunned. +"Gee! And I was understanding that was a man! +I ain't qualified for the judges' stand, but—did +you ever strike this joy-promoting endurance run +of language before?"</p> + +<p>"Once. I didn't have you to read it to me, +or I would have enjoyed it more," Gerard returned, +stirring in his arm-chair opposite the ruddily +glowing German stove. "Don't you want to +give me a cigarette; I haven't had one since noon."</p> + +<p>He was thinner and still colorless, otherwise +there was little to show what the last month and +a half had meant to Allan Gerard. Except when +he rose or moved, the inert uselessness of his right +arm was not obvious. And however hard the +battles and rebellion he inwardly had passed +through, tone or expression carried no outward +intelligence of past conflict as he smiled across at +his entertainer. Gerard possessed in full measure +that Anglo-Saxon reticence which abhors the useless +display of emotions. Rupert balanced the +volume upon his knee and proceeded to comply +with the request, twisting his dark little face +sardonically.</p> + +<p>"When I was racing with Darling French," +he reminisced, "we gave out of oil, once, on a +practice run across country. There was a house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +by the busy curb representing itself as the only +one combination garage and grocery store, so +Darling contracted for a can of warranted cylinder +oil in a speed dash that left the man all used up +and rattling mad. Being in some haste, we didn't +look up that can's inner life, but chucked the +stuff where it would do the most good."</p> + +<p>"Poor quality?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't saying so. The complaint wasn't +quality, it was kind. That can surrounded the +finest brand of Koko Korn syrup, extra rich. They +had to knock down our motor with a set of cooking +utensils, and the man who did the job said it +was a candied peach."</p> + +<p>Gerard laughed.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he anticipated.</p> + +<p>"Here's your smoke. Well, that type of literature +makes my thinks-motor feel as if molasses +was being poured into it for lubrication—it sticks. +Will you take it hard if I raise my voice over the +sporting page of the evening paper, instead?"</p> + +<p>Gerard nodded consent, but checked the reply +on his lips, listening. The outer door had opened +and closed, someone could be heard speaking to +the mistress of the house.</p> + +<p>"Corrie Rose!" he marvelled.</p> + +<p>Rupert carefully laid <i>Thaddeus</i> on the table +and stood up, straightening his small, wiry figure.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +"I'll crank up and run out," he observed nonchalantly. +"Signal when you want me back."</p> + +<p>There was no need of explanation; since the +day of the Mercury's wreck, Rupert had never +voluntarily remained in the same room with Corrie +or had exchanged speech with him. The two +passed at the doorway, now, with a curt nod on +the part of the mechanician in response to the +visitor's salute.</p> + +<p>It was not a heartening reception, nor could +Gerard's cordial greeting lift the shadow of it +from Corrie's expression. That long solitary walk +had left his young face drawn with a white fatigue +not physical. But his eyes did not avoid Gerard's, +and for the first time he spoke of the subject +always present in the minds of both.</p> + +<p>"You ought to hate the sight of me worse +than Rupert does," he abruptly opened. "But—you +don't. I don't know why, but you don't."</p> + +<p>"No, I certainly do not," Gerard confirmed, +his grave eyes on his guest.</p> + +<p>Corrie rested one hand upon the narrow mantel, +looking down at the fire-bright squares of the +stove. He still wore his gray overcoat and held +his cap, as if prepared to accept dismissal.</p> + +<p>"You understand how easily things can go +wrong," he said. "I never used to understand +that, but I do now. You have seen drivers go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> +wild in the race fever, more than once. We have +both seen the nicest, sweetest fellows curse and +strike their mechanicians because of a lost minute, +seen men whose nerve never balked at a risk sit +down and cry like girls when their car went out +of a race. There is a mark on my car now +where Ralph Stanton once scraped off the paint +in passing because I was slow in getting out of +his way. I suppose you judged mine such a case +and forgave a moment's insanity. No one else ever +will. You," his violet-blue eyes suddenly sought +the other man's, "you won't think I am trying +to excuse any such thing as was done to you or +to justify my part."</p> + +<p>"No," Gerard answered, compassionately translating +the last weeks' writing on the candid face. +"I am not likely to think that, Corrie. But do +not give me credit not due; I am not unusually +forgiving or wise, it is, indeed, merely that I understand +fairly well. And when one understands the +other man, there seldom is anything to forgive."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. It's because you always understand +one that I've come here to-night. I, I guess +I've about realized that I'm not quite nineteen +years old yet and pretty much a fool. I don't suppose +anyone ever meant better than I did, or ever +did worse at it. Gerard, my father has sent me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +off. Oh, not like that!" as the other man moved, +startled. "I mean, he has told me to go away +for a year or two, anywhere I like, until people +forget. He says he doesn't want to see me for +a while. No one does, except my sister. There +is no one on earth for whom I care who looks the +same as before at me except her, and you. I'm +sent off to live alone and I have never been alone +in my life. I'm afraid of myself, sick, afraid to +be alone—take me with you."</p> + +<p>"Corrie?"</p> + +<p>The boy's impetuous gesture interrupted.</p> + +<p>"Don't say no! It ought to kill me to look +at you, it almost does, but it's worse away. Let +me go where you are going, let me work in your +factory, if it's at shovelling coal. Don't send me +off alone with more money than I can spend and +nothing to do with myself. I can't stand it—I'd +go under! You would better have let Rupert +send me to prison for wrecking your car. I've +tried to stand what seemed up to me, but I'm +near my limit. Gerard, help me see it through."</p> + +<p>There was a quality of desperation in the appeal +that was like a clutching grasp. Gerard +felt his own nerves draw tense while his answer +leaped to the present and future need.</p> + +<p>"You are the exact man I want at the factory,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +Corrie," he assured, with all steadying naturalness +and calm. "Take off your overcoat and +come sit down; you are not going right out again. +I've got work for you that will keep you guessing, +as Rupert says. Let me see, it's eight o'clock +and you walked over; I'll wager you have had no +dinner."</p> + +<p>"I don't want anything," Corrie refused, his +face averted, his fingers gripping the mantel-shelf +until his nails showed white from pressure.</p> + +<p>"All right; I do. I declined my coffee and +some of Mrs. Carter's ambrosial apple pie, this +evening, and I have been repenting ever since. +You are a fine pretext for having them brought +in to us now. Besides, I shall have to keep you +in good shape if you are going to help me put +through a scheme of mine. Of course, I am not +altering my plan of living merely because I have +got one arm to use in place of two. I have to +have some things done for me instead of doing +them myself, that's all. I need you," he paused, +and lifted to his companion the cordial brilliancy +of his smile, "and I am glad to have you, Corrie."</p> + +<p>When, an hour later, the guest rose to depart, +Gerard detained him for a final word.</p> + +<p>"One thing before you go," he said, with a +quiet force of command that belonged to the other<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +Allan Gerard whom Corrie had not yet encountered—the +master of many men and affairs, instead +of the racing driver and social playmate. "We +will not speak again of the subject we have concluded +to-night. I do not wish the accident to +the Mercury recalled or discussed between us, +ever. We are beyond that. Good night; I suppose +you would rather start with me, day after +to-morrow, than alone, later?"</p> + +<p>Long afterward Gerard came to remember that +straight glance of utter helplessness and struggling +confusion from Corrie's tired eyes.</p> + +<p>"I, I can't <i>think</i>," confessed Corrie Rose. "I'm +in too deep to find a way out. I—my head——" +he pushed back his heavy fair hair. "Yes, I'd +rather start with you, if you will let me. Tell +me whatever you want of me, Gerard; I'll always +do it. Good night."</p> + +<p>The closing of the outer door was the signal +for Rupert's return to the parlor.</p> + +<p>"Your time on the track is up," he reminded, +"and you need your sleeps."</p> + +<p>"I am not sleepy, Rupert. We will go home to +the factory, day after to-morrow, and continue +work on that special racing car of mine. Corrie +Rose is going to drive it when it is done, since I +cannot."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>The mechanician slowly stiffened.</p> + +<p>"Not precisely?" he refused credence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; for practice and testing, at first, +and racing later. Until it is built I shall put him +in training on one of the ninety Mercuries. He +doesn't yet know anything about it, himself, and +he isn't going to be told until I am ready. You +are going to ride with him and break him in. He +has to be taught a good deal to change him from +a clever amateur to a professional driver."</p> + +<p>"When I sit in a car beside Rose, it'll be because +I'm taking him to be lynched," Rupert explicitly +set forth.</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dearest."</p> + +<p>Gerard rested his head against the cushioned +chair-back and met the inflexible black eyes with +the cool, mischievous resolution of his own regard, +saying nothing at all.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>X</h2> +<h3>SENTENCE OF ERROR</h3> + +<p>It was nearly twelve o'clock, that night, when +Corrie arrived home. Flavia ran down the wide +staircase to meet him, finger on lip; a childish +figure in the creamy lace and silk of her negligee, +with her heavy braids of shining hair falling over +her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You are so late," she grieved. "And so cold! +Come near the hearth—papa is in the library, +still."</p> + +<p>Corrie allowed her small urgent hands to draw +him towards the fireplace that filled the square +hall with ruddy reflections and dancing shadows. +He was cold to the touch, ice clung to the rough +cloth of his ulster, but there was color and even +light in the face he turned to her.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> snowing," he recalled. "But I'm not +cold. I am going to bed and to sleep. I want +you to sleep, too, Other Fellow, because the worst +of it all is over. I don't mean that things are +right—they never can be that again, I suppose—but +I see my way clear to live, now."</p> + +<p>She gazed up at him attentively, sensitively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +responsive to the vital change she divined in him. +Before he could continue or she question, Mr. +Rose came between the curtains of the arched +library door, a massive, dominant presence as he +stood surveying the two in the fire-light. He +made no remark, yet Corrie at once moved to face +him, gently putting Flavia aside.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to be so late, sir; I have been +arranging for my going away," he gave simple +account of himself. "I should like to leave the +day after to-morrow, if you do not object. I am +going to stay with a western friend. I know you +would rather not hear much about me or from +me for a while, but I will leave an address where +I can always be reached."</p> + +<p>It is not infrequently disconcerting to be taken +promptly and literally at one's word. Moreover, +Corrie looked very young and pathetically tired, +with his wind-ruffled fair hair pushed back and in +his bearing of dignified self-dependence. A quiver +passed over Mr. Rose's strong, square-cut countenance, +his stern light-gray eyes softened to +a contradiction of his set mouth.</p> + +<p>"I'm not in the habit of saying things twice," +he curtly replied. "I gave you leave to go when +and where you pleased. To-morrow I'll fix your +bank account so you can draw all the money you +like."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," Corrie acknowledged.</p> + +<p>"You've no call to thank me," his father corrected. +"I guess that when I own millions you've +got the right to all you can spend. It won't help +anything for you to be pinched or uncomfortable. +I've no wish to see it. I am going to take your +sister to Europe for the winter, as I told her this +evening, so we ourselves leave soon after you. Try +to keep straighter, this time."</p> + +<p>There was no intentional cruelty in the concluding sentence, +delivered as the speaker stepped +back into the inner room, but Corrie turned so +white that Flavia sprang to him with a low exclamation +of pain.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," he reassured her. And after a +moment: "Flavia, I am going with Allan Gerard, +to work under him and help him in his factory."</p> + +<p>"Corrie?"</p> + +<p>"I have been with him to-night. I don't want +father to know this because he wouldn't understand; +he might even forbid me to go. Unless he +forces an answer, I shall not say where I am to be. +But Gerard said I must tell you everything and +write to you often—I would have done that, anyhow. +You won't mind my going away, now, when +you know I am with him?"</p> + +<p>She comprehended at last the change in him, the +change from restless uncertainty to steady fixity<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +of purpose, from an objectless wanderer to a traveller +towards a known destination, comprehended +with a passionate outrush of gratitude to the man +who had wrought this in a generosity too broad to +remember his own injury. The eyes she lifted to +her brother's were splendidly luminous.</p> + +<p>"No," she confirmed, in the exhaustion of relief. +"I can bear to let you go from me, if you are to +be with Mr. Gerard."</p> + +<p>They nestled together—as each might have +clung in such an hour to the mother they had left +so far down the path of years—on the hearth from +which one was self-exiled and the other about to +be taken.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the story he told us?" Corrie +asked, after a long pause. "About that Arabian +fellow's vase and the pearls, you know? I—well, +I meant what I said, about expecting to have +lots of days like that, pearl-days. I couldn't see +any farther than that! Yet that night—I don't +expect now, what I did then; I've lost my chance +for it. But I would like to do something for Allan +Gerard before I die. I'd like to make all my +pearls into one, and put it into his vase. Instead, +he is doing things for me."</p> + +<p>Her clasping arms tightened about him. Heretofore +she always had turned a steady face to her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +brother, sparing him the reproach of grief, but +now she helplessly felt her eyes fill and overflow. +One comfort, one hope she had that he did not +share. If he went with Allan Gerard, and if +Gerard took home the wife he had seemed to woo, +brother and sister would not be separated. Flavia +Gerard would be in Allan Gerard's house, where +Corrie was going.</p> + +<p>Had Gerard thought of that, also? Dared she +tread on this nebulous fairy-ground? Dared she +lead Corrie to set foot there, with her?</p> + +<p>"Dear," she essayed, her voice just audible, +"dear, has Mr. Gerard ever spoken to you of +me?"</p> + +<p>Surprised, Corrie looked down at the bent head +resting against his rough overcoat. Himself a +lover, he yet had not suspected this other romance +flowering beside his own; he did not guess the +obvious secret, now.</p> + +<p>"Of you? Oh, yes; he asks if you are well, +each day. He never forgets such things. Why?"</p> + +<p>She had no answer to that natural question. In +spite of her reason, Flavia was chilled by the flat +conventionality of Gerard's apparent attitude, as +represented by those formal inquiries. Almost she +would have preferred that he had not spoken of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +her at all; silence could not have implied indifference.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," she faltered. It clearly was impossible +to speak as she had imagined. "Only, +as his hostess, and your sister, I fancied that he +might——"</p> + +<p>"He wouldn't say that sort of thing to me, +Other Fellow. No doubt he will come to pay a +farewell call before he leaves. He isn't very fit, +you know; he hasn't been out yet. He <i>must</i> be at +his western factory this week, he said, or he +wouldn't try to travel."</p> + +<p>Her color rushed back. Why had she not remembered +that? Why should he speak of her to +anyone, since to-morrow he would come to see her? +To-morrow? The clocks had struck midnight, to-day +they would see each other.</p> + +<p>"It is late," Corrie added, as if in answer to +her thought. He sighed wearily. "You are tired, +I suppose we both are. Come up."</p> + +<p>He passed his arm about her waist, and they +went up the stairs together, leaning on one +another. But Allan Gerard was a third presence +with them, and in their sense of his guardianship +brother and sister rested like children comforted.</p> + +<p>The following day was one filled with an atmosphere +of disruption and imminent departure. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +very servants caught the contagion and hurried +uncomfortably about their tasks. Corrie's preparations +were unostentatious, but Isabel's agitated +the entire household. Also, Mr. Rose issued his +instructions that Flavia should be ready to start +for France on the next steamer sailing. The +house that had been rose-colored within and without +was become a gray place to be avoided.</p> + +<p>Flavia thought all day of Allan Gerard. She +knew her father went in the afternoon to pay him +a farewell visit, she knew Corrie was with him all +the morning, and when each returned home she +suspended breath in anticipation of hearing the +step of a guest also—the step of Gerard coming +towards the goal which he had half-showed her +in the fountain arbor. But Corrie and Mr. Rose +each entered alone.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she chose to wear his color, that +night; the pale, glistening tea-rose yellow above +which her warm hair showed burnished gold. He +must come that evening, if at all; she would be +truly "Flavia Rose" to him.</p> + +<p>She was standing alone before her mirror, setting +the last pearl comb in place, when her cousin +came into the room.</p> + +<p>"You look as if you were happy enough," Isabel +commented fretfully. "I don't believe you care<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +at all about Corrie's going away. Of course you +don't care about me. What are you putting on +that old-fashioned thing for?"</p> + +<p>Flavia gravely turned her large eyes upon the +other girl; the unjust attack fell in harsh dissonance +with her own mood of hushed anticipation. +She could not have robed herself for her wedding +with more serious care and earnest thoughtfulness +than she had used in preparing to receive Gerard +to-night. This was no time for coquetry; as he +came for her, she would go to him, she knew, without +evasion or pretense to harass his weakness. +She shrank, wincing sensitively, from this rough +criticism, but every member of the family had +learned not to reply to the new Isabel's peevish +tartness.</p> + +<p>"It was my mother's," she explained, to the +last inquiry, tenderly lifting the long chain of +pearl and amber beads ending in a lace-fine pearl +cross. Never could she attempt to tell her cousin +the blended motives from which she had chosen to +wear this rosary. "And her mother's and again +her's. It is very old Spanish work. Shall we go +down?"</p> + +<p>"What for? It is not time for dinner. Oh, +Martin told me there was a messenger waiting to +deliver a letter, just now, as I came here."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + +<p>The color flared up over Flavia's delicate face.</p> + +<p>"A messenger, Isabel?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, who would not send up his message. I +told Martin that we would ring."</p> + +<p>Flavia slowly wound the chain around her +throat. There was no escape from Isabel's insistent +companionship, she realized.</p> + +<p>"Ring, then, please," she requested, and passed +into her little sitting-room, beyond.</p> + +<p>Isabel followed curiously, ensconcing herself in +one of the easy-chairs and idly twitching blossoms +from the hyacinths in a bowl near her. All +day she had been especially nervous and irritable, +her least movements were characterized by an impatience +almost feverish.</p> + +<p>The messenger who appeared on the threshold +was Jack Rupert, not in the familiar guise of the +Mercury's mechanician, but Rupert at leisure; a +small, immaculate figure as New Yorkese as +Broadway itself. The movement that brought +Flavia across to him was impulsive as a confident +child's and accompanied by a candid radiance of +glance and smile flashed straight into the visitor's +black eyes. She had no attention to spare to the +fact that Isabel also had risen.</p> + +<p>"You have been so good as to bring a message +to me, Mr. Rupert?" she questioned happily.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ain't denying it was a pleasure to come," he +made gracious reply, with his slight drawl of +speech. "I've been given this to deliver to Miss +Rose, from Mr. Gerard, under orders to bring the +answer back unless it was preferred to send it by +Mr. Rose, junior, to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"This" was a letter. As Flavia held out her +hand to receive it, Isabel reached her side and +seized her wrist so fiercely as to bruise the soft +flesh.</p> + +<p>"It is mine!" she panted. "Give it to me—it +is mine!"</p> + +<p>Flavia stood still, looking at the other girl with +slow-gathering, incredulous resentment and +wonder.</p> + +<p>"Yours? You expected this from Mr. Gerard, +Isabel?"</p> + +<p>"I—no—yes—Corrie warned me he would," +Isabel stammered. "You shall not read it, Flavia +Rose, you shall not! It is for me, for me—no +one must see it."</p> + +<p>She was trembling in a vehement excitement +half-hysteric. Very quietly Flavia disengaged her +arm from the grasp holding it; for the moment +Isabel's touch was loathsome to her.</p> + +<p>"For whom is the letter, my cousin or me?" +she asked the bearer.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I guess there ain't any answer; I don't know," +avowed Rupert, troubled and hesitant. "I was +sent out to report to Miss Rose."</p> + +<p>"But you, yourself, for whom did you suppose +it?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't certain I did any supposing. Mr. +Gerard began it after Mr. Rose had been with +him, yesterday, and it took from then till to-night +to finish."</p> + +<p>"It is <i>mine</i>," Isabel reiterated passionately.</p> + +<p>The scene was utterly impossible, not to be +prolonged. It was the strong, cool determination +inherited from Thomas Rose that held Flavia equal +to the demands of her mother's bequeathment of +reticent pride.</p> + +<p>"Pray give the letter to my cousin," she requested, +her calm never more perfect. "I am +sorry to have confused so simple a matter. She +will of course recognize for which of us it is intended."</p> + +<p>But she meant to see the letter. Even as she +watched Isabel snatch the surrendered missive, +Flavia told herself that this sentence of error could +not be accepted without sight of the letter. Moving +with deliberate stateliness, she crossed to a +chair near a small table and sat down, taking up +a book. She was conscious that Rupert watched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +her, and she would make no sign that might constitute +a self-betrayal when recounted to Gerard if +she were indeed so pitifully wrong and he had from +the first chosen her cousin. What she was not +in the least aware of, was the inevitable impression +made upon the mechanician by the dazzling little +room and her central figure of gold upon gold and +pearl-and-amber, and by her still, colorless face set +in all this sheen and lustre. Had he been as dull +as he really was acute, this scene could not have +been made casual to him.</p> + +<p>Isabel's shaking fingers shredded the envelope +in extracting the sheet of paper, her eyes scanned +the page avidly. The result was unanticipated; +there was a sharp cry, an instant of indecision, +then as savagely as she had claimed the letter she +sprang to thrust it into the startled Flavia's lap.</p> + +<p>"I can't do it! Flavia, I can't see him—I +can't bear it! Tell him no—to go away—it's all +over, now."</p> + +<p>The desperate terror and dread of the cry +charged the atmosphere of the room with vibrant +intensity. Flavia caught the letter.</p> + +<p>"I am to read this?" she demanded.</p> + +<p>"Yes; read it, help me."</p> + +<p>Isabel had seen and still claimed as hers the +message. Yes, and had expected it, so that there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +must have been other communication between her +and the sender. The conviction of her own utter +mistake struck Flavia down with a force that +crushed reason under feeling. She was physically +giddy as she unfolded the page.</p> + +<p>The writing was uncertain and angular; different +indeed from the firm smooth script that had +accompanied the box of yellow roses in giving the +"definition of the meaning of <i>Flavia Rose</i>." The +mute evidence of that difficult left-handed task +pierced the girl who loved Allan Gerard, before +she read the words.</p> + +<p>The letter commenced abruptly, without superscription.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"I think you will know how hard it is for me to +speak to you calmly, even this way, across this distance, +remembering how we last met. To you I can confess +what I could to no one else, since there is now an end +of concealment between us; that is, that Allan Gerard is +so weak as to feel shame at being a cripple. So much so, +that the idea is intolerable of first remeeting you amidst +your household's pitying curiosity. I never used to know +I had a personal vanity; I fancy it is not quite that, but +rather the humiliation of the man who has always been +well-dressed and who suddenly finds himself sent into +public sight in a shabby, tattered garment. I had accepted +my physical conventionality as part of my social equipment. +I do not say this in reproach to anyone or to affect you; +I am perfectly sure that you will not offer me the last +insult of supposing so or of answering me from that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +viewpoint. I say it only to excuse my very great presumption +in asking you to drive with Corrie to the little +railway station, to-morrow morning, to take leave of him—and +to tell me whether I am to come back. I want you +to see me as I am now, before you determine. Perhaps, +left to my own impulse of shielding you, I would have gone in +silence, but justice is higher than sentiment; you have +the right to hear what I must say and to answer it as you +will.</p> + +<p>"I am going to do my best for Corrie, whatever happens. +Please trust me so far, and if I have offended or seemed +to fail in this letter, remember my past months in excuse.</p> + +<p class="ralign">"Allan Gerard."</p> +</div> + +<p>Flavia laid down the sheet of paper. In that +moment she suffered less from the destruction of +her own happiness than from the destruction of +Gerard's. This cry out of his anguish to the one +for whom alone he had broken the stoical muteness +in which he had wrapped his endured pain of mind +and body, this self-revelation that was the difficult +baring of a heart not used to show itself and +avowal of weakness at the core of so much strength, +drew from her an outrush of maternal protectiveness +that rolled its flood above personal grief. If she +could have sent Isabel to him, then, an Isabel +worthy of the high trust and pathetic dignity in +humility of that letter, she could have accepted +her own sorrow. But she knew Isabel Rose, knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +the vanity of that hope even as she tried to realize +it.</p> + +<p>"You know what Mr. Gerard wishes to say +to you, to-morrow?" she asked composedly. If +the composure was overdone, it was the error of +a novice in acting.</p> + +<p>The other girl shrank back.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I——"</p> + +<p>"Then, why do you not answer him? Surely, +if you expected him to write this, you must answer +him."</p> + +<p>"I will not!" Isabel cried loudly and rebelliously. +"I will not go, I will not see him hurt +like that and hear him, hear him——" she broke +off, fighting for breath. "Tell him to go away. +I can't help it now, I can't see him. It's all over!"</p> + +<p>This was the woman Allan Gerard had chosen, +Flavia thought in bitter wonder; this self-centred, +hysterical girl whose love could not survive the +marring of her lover's outward beauty. Isabel +could not bear to go to him; the irony of it sank +deep into the girl who could scarcely bear to stay +away. But Flavia turned to the mute Rupert, +holding her dignity steadily above her pitiful confusion +of mind, striving, also, to ease this blow +to Gerard, who was so little fit to receive it.</p> + +<p>"Pray inform Mr. Gerard that Miss Rose is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +unwell and hardly able to answer his letter now," +she directed. "I hope she will be able to accompany +Mr. Corwin Rose, to-morrow morning, as he +suggests."</p> + +<p>"No!" Isabel denied.</p> + +<p>"I'll report, Miss Rose," Rupert asserted with +brevity.</p> + +<p>The keen black eyes and the deep-blue ones met, +and read each other. Flavia took a step forward +and held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"It is not probable that we shall meet again, +ever. Thank you," she said.</p> + +<p>It would not have been possible to bribe Rupert +into silence, but Flavia had done better. She knew, +and the mechanician knew, as he touched her soft +fingers, that he would keep to himself the knowledge +that she had elevated to a confidence—the +knowledge that she loved Allan Gerard, and was +not loved in return.</p> + +<p>So it happened that when Rupert returned to +the Westbury farmhouse, he literally repeated +Flavia's dictated message and contributed nothing +of additional information or detail—except that +he made one dry comment before retiring for the +night.</p> + +<p>"There's just one of the Rose family that ain't +got any yellow streaks," he volunteered.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who?" was asked absently.</p> + +<p>The response to his letter had left Gerard paler +than usual and very grave. He did not recognize +in it the Flavia he knew; the girl who had watched +her brother with such rich lavishness of affection, +the girl whose most innocent eyes had held the +possibilities of all Corrie's ardent young passion +without his impulsive faults, and whose warmth +of nature had drawn him as a fireside draws a +wanderer. He would not doubt her for such slight +cause, he would wait for morning and her further +answer, but he felt a premonitory dread and discouragement. +He had expected so much more +than he would now admit to himself. He even +had thought vaguely, unreasoningly eager as a +wistful boy, that she might come to him with Corrie +that evening, that he might see and touch her.</p> + +<p>"The lady you didn't write to," answered his +mechanician. "Good night."</p> + +<p>The next morning Corrie Rose went to the little +railway station, alone.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>XI</h2> +<h3>GERARD'S MAN</h3> + +<p>The hard, glittering macadam track that swept +around the huge western factory of the Mercury +Automobile Company and curved off behind a +mass of autumn-gray woodland, was swarming +with dingy, roaring, nakedly bare cars. The +spluttering explosions from the unmuffled exhausts, +the voices of the testers and their +mechanics as they called back and forth, the +monotonous tones of the man who distributed +numbers for identification and heard reports from +his force, all blended into the cheery eight-o'clock +din of a commencing work-day. Three brawny, +perspiration-streaked young fellows were engaged +in loading bags of sand on the stripped cars about +to start out, to supply the weight of the missing +bodies, and whistling rag-time melodies to enliven +their labors.</p> + +<p>In the shadow of one of the arched doorways +Corrie Rose stood to watch the scene, drawing full, +hungry breaths of the gasoline-scented, smoke-murked +air. There was more than frost this +December morning; ice glinted in the gutters and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +on the surface of buckets, the healthful lash of +the wind flecked color into the men's faces as +they pulled on heavy gloves and hooded caps. The +spirit of the place was action; the lusty vigor of +it tugged with kindred appeal at the inactive, +wistful one who looked on.</p> + +<p>The heavy throb of the machinery-crowded +building smothered the sound of steps; a touch +was necessary to arouse the absorbed watcher.</p> + +<p>"You've been here for almost a week, Corrie. +Don't you feel like getting to work?" queried +Gerard's pleasant tones.</p> + +<p>The boy swung around eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he welcomed. "Give me something to +do, anything."</p> + +<p>Gerard nodded, his amber eyes sweeping courtyard +and track until, finding the man he sought, +he lifted a summoning finger.</p> + +<p>"Have someone bring out my six-ninety, +Rupert," he called across. "Right away." And +to his companion, "Get into some warm things; +you will find it cold, driving."</p> + +<p>Corrie stiffened, flushing painfully and catching +his lip in his white teeth.</p> + +<p>"Gerard, you mean <i>me</i> to drive?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"I shall never drive a car again."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will drive the six-ninety Mercury for six +hours a day, every day," Gerard corrected explicitly. +"Until I get the big special racer built, +and then you will drive it. You are going to +work into the finest kind of training and drive +until you can drive in your sleep. Too bad the +winter is shutting in, but that will not stop you +any more than it does the testers. In fact, driving +in the snow is good practice."</p> + +<p>Helpless, Corrie looked at the other man, his +violet-blue eyes almost black with repressed feeling.</p> + +<p>"Gerard, you must know how I want to; don't +ask me! You know how I ache to get ahold of +a wheel, but I've forfeited all that."</p> + +<p>"You have placed yourself in my factory, under +my orders," Gerard stated, with curt finality. +"While you are here you will do what I tell you +to do, precisely as does every other worker; precisely +as does Rupert, for example, who is really +tester at the eastern plant and ordinarily works +under its master, David French. I have decided +to give you a branch of the work that I once +planned to do myself and now cannot. Go into +the office and put on your driving togs."</p> + +<p>"I ain't expecting to shove this ninety through +a letter-slot," remonstrated caustic accents from +across the busy courtyard. "Move over, girls,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +you're crowding the aisles! Say, Norris, this +ain't a joy-ride down Riverside Drive, it's a testing +run; reverse over there and take about six +more sachet-bags of mud-pie aboard where your +tonneau ain't, before you start. Don't it hurt +you bad to hurry like that, you fellows?"</p> + +<p>There was a drawing aside by the cars opposite +a wide door, and the machine guided by Rupert +rolled through, winding a devious course toward +where its owner waited. Without a word, Corrie +turned and went into the office.</p> + +<p>Gerard remained still, following with his gaze +the approach of the beloved car he would drive +no more, until it came to a halt before him.</p> + +<p>"If we're going out, I'll fetch my muff and +veils," suggested the mechanician, leaning nearer.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Rupert. I am going with Rose, +myself, this first time. You can be ready this +afternoon, though."</p> + +<p>Rupert's dark face twisted in a grimace, his +black eyes narrowed.</p> + +<p>"We're laboring under some classy mistake," +he dryly signified. "I was inviting myself to go +with you. As for Rose, he and I won't perch on +the same branch unless we get lynched together +for horse stealing—and you know how I don't +love a horse."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>The amusement underlying Gerard's expression +rippled to the surface.</p> + +<p>"All right," he acquiesced. "Detail someone +else. But, Rupert——"</p> + +<p>"Ma'am?"</p> + +<p>"I think you will race next spring as Corrie +Rose's mechanician."</p> + +<p>Their glances encountered, equally cool and +determined.</p> + +<p>"I'll take in washing with a Chinese partner, +if you and Darling French throw me out," assured +Rupert kindly. "Don't worry about my future +like that."</p> + +<p>And he slipped across the levers out of his +seat, eel-supple, as Corrie issued from the office.</p> + +<p>There was a mile loop of the perfect macadam +track circling the factory buildings, then the way +ran off into the country roads, inches deep with +heavy sand, littered with ugly stones, rising over +and pitching down steep grades where holes and +mud-patches abounded. Over this the new Mercury +cars were driven at top speed, each one reckoning +many miles before the makers allowed them +to be clothed with bodies and gleaming enamels +and to be sent to the purchasers. No flaw escaped +unnoticed, no weakness passed. Jaws set under<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +their masks, keen eyes on the road and keen ears +listening for the least false note in the tone-harmony +of their machines, the sturdy testers +drove through a day's work that would have prostrated +the average motorist. Out among these +men went Corrie Rose, more self-conscious than +he had ever been on race track or course.</p> + +<p>"I never had a ninety before," he confided to +Gerard, as they finished the mile circuit. "A +sixty was my biggest. She's, she's a <i>beauty</i>!"</p> + +<p>The car slammed violently off the macadam onto +the sand road, skidded in a half-circle and righted +itself with a writhing jerk.</p> + +<p>"Mind your path," cautioned Gerard, in open +mirth. "This isn't a motor parkway. Hello!"</p> + +<p>One of the smaller cars was coming towards +them, limping back to the shops with a broken +front spring. The man driving it touched his cap +to Gerard as they passed, swinging one arm behind +him in a significant gesture and shouting a +warning concerning the bridge ahead. Corrie +checked his speed, and barely skirted the deep +washed-out hole that had caused the other +machine's disaster.</p> + +<p>"There was rain yesterday and freezing +weather last night," Gerard communicated, at his +ear. "Now it is beginning to melt again and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +playing the mischief with the roads. There is a +right-angle turn coming."</p> + +<p>Corrie nodded, fully occupied. His blood sang +through his veins, his fingers gripped the steering-wheel +lovingly; he was revelling in the speed +exhilaration he had never expected to feel again. +The driver who hoped for no such commutation +of sentence watched him with quietly sad eyes; +eyes in which no one ever was allowed to surprise +their present expression, least of all Corrie Rose.</p> + +<p>Near noon a tire blew out. Gerard sat on the +side of the Mercury and gave bits of ironical advice +to the worker while Corrie changed a tire alone +for the first time in his life. Corrie bore the +teasing sweetly, even when a tool slipped and tore +his cold-sensitized fingers.</p> + +<p>"I know," he deprecated. "Dean always did +it and I just helped. I never did anything thoroughly; +an amateur isn't a professional. We +would have lost time by that in a road race."</p> + +<p>"You will learn. Rupert and I used to do it +in two minutes from stop to restart," Gerard returned. +"There—gather up your tools; we will +go home to luncheon."</p> + +<p>"To the factory, first?"</p> + +<p>"No. Go slowly and I will show you a short +cut."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Corrie was not in a mood to go slowly, so +that they almost missed the driveway that +branched from the macadam track to curve around +into a park set thickly with fragrant cedars, central +in which grove stood the quaintly stiff house +of dark brick and stone.</p> + +<p>"Run around to the garage," Gerard directed. +"Since you will want the car all the time, you +might as well keep it here and use the short cut +out to the road. I will get out here and go into +the house."</p> + +<p>Corrie obediently bent to his levers.</p> + +<p>"All the time?" he repeated, with an indrawn +breath of reluctant ecstasy. "All the time!"</p> + +<p>As Gerard turned to the house, a small figure +advanced to meet him.</p> + +<p>"We've sent out a gang to massage some of +the freckles defacing the speedway," Rupert informed +him. "Briggs chugged in with a broken +spring, Norris side-wiped a fence, and Phillips +fell into a hole without publishing a notice, so that +his mechanician got off over the bonnet and broke +his collar-bone. That ain't testing cars, it's +promoting funerals. It's easier to motor into +heaven on that road than to drive a camel in New +York. What?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, have it put in order, of course. I sup<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>posed +that Mr. Dalton would attend to the matter, +since I was out. Rupert, who is the sharpest-tongued, +most cross-grained and least ceremonious +mechanician we have?"</p> + +<p>"I am," was the prompt reply. "Were you +wanting me?"</p> + +<p>Gerard looked at him and laughed.</p> + +<p>"You have ruled yourself off the list of +eligibles," he declared. "I want a man to ride +with Corrie Rose."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" ejaculated Rupert. His malicious, +shrewd face gained comprehension. "<i>Oh!</i> Well, +I ain't boasting, but I could do that job up pretty +fine. Failing me, Devlin is the nastiest thing on +the place. You couldn't pat his head without +pricking your fingers."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Tell him to report to Rose hereafter,—and +do not tell him much else. Let all +the men know that Rose is training to take my +place in the racing work, but do not let them +know anything about his millionaire father or his +share in the Cup-race affair."</p> + +<p>Rupert directed his gaze towards the inert +right arm hanging by Gerard's side.</p> + +<p>"Your place," he echoed. "Are you giving in +without putting up a stiff fight?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerard's chin lifted, his eyes sprang to meet +the sharp challenge of the mechanician's.</p> + +<p>"No. The fight will soon be on. Are you +going to be my second in it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm guessing I'll be there when you look for +me."</p> + +<p>Their eyes dwelt together for a long moment.</p> + +<p>"I should like the men to treat Rose as they +do each other, so far as possible," Gerard casually +resumed his original theme. "It will be good for +him. He needs roughing!"</p> + +<p>Rupert ran his fingers through his crisp black +locks, wheeling to depart.</p> + +<p>"He'll slip control and run wild," he predicted, +grimly vicious. "He needs the training you're +planning for him, all right, but he ain't got the +stuff in him to stand it. He'll slip control—here's +hoping he smashes himself this time!"</p> + +<p>Gerard moved his head in disagreement.</p> + +<p>"Wait," he advised. "You once said he could +not last out a certain twenty-four-hour race."</p> + +<p>"He didn't."</p> + +<p>"He finished in third place."</p> + +<p>"Because you helped him through, that's why. +He didn't have to do it alone."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't have to do this alone, either," reminded +Gerard.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rupert looked at him, then walked away, every +line of his body reiterating the prediction he could +not sustain argumentatively.</p> + +<p>It was half an hour later that Corrie came into +the room to join his host, carrying a letter in +his hand.</p> + +<p>"It is from Flavia," he volunteered. "She +promised to write as soon as they got across, but +she did better; she wrote this on board the steamer +so that it was all ready to send." He sat down +in his place and rested his arms on the table in the +boyish attitude so associated with the massively +rich dining-room of his father's house and the +light-hearted group who had gathered there. "It +was like her to do better than her word,—she +doesn't know how to do less. One, one can tie up +to <i>her</i>."</p> + +<p>Gerard continued to gaze out the window opposite, +his expression setting as if under a sudden +exertion of self-control.</p> + +<p>"I—well, I was always fond of my sister, but +one learns a good deal more of people when things +go wrong than when they just run along right. +She asks me about you, how you are now."</p> + +<p>"Miss Rose is too kind."</p> + +<p>Some quality in the brief acknowledgment compelled +a pause. The once self-assertive Corrie had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> +become acutely sensitive to any suggestion of +rebuff or disapproval. He could not in any way +divine this rebuke was not for him, or know of the +bruise he innocently had touched.</p> + +<p>When the first course of the luncheon was +served, Gerard came over to his seat and opened +a new subject with his usual kindness of manner. +It was a curious fact that, although Gerard had +felt the awakening of love for Flavia Rose from +his first glimpse of her, he never had aided Corrie +for his sister's sake. Even when he had dragged +himself from the overwhelming blackness of pain +and the numbing effects of anæsthetics to defend +the driver whose foul blow had struck him down, +it was of Corrie alone he thought, not of Flavia, +Corrie whom he had shielded from disgrace and +open punishment. Man to man they had dealt +together, no woman, however dear, entered between +them. So when Flavia had seemed to fail +her lover, again the separateness had held and +Gerard never even imagined visiting her desertion +on her brother. He had not resented Corrie's +natural speech of her, now, but he could not listen +to it; not yet.</p> + +<p>"You will find your regular mechanician waiting +for you when you go out again," he observed. +"You can learn much with him, if you choose,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +Corrie, although he is no Rupert. Take your +machine where and how you please; it is all practice. +I will see you again at dinner, unless you +grow tired before then and would like to come +up to the draughting-room to meet my chief engineer +and designer."</p> + +<p>Corrie looked down, crumpling a fold of the +table cloth between nervous fingers.</p> + +<p>"Gerard, do they know?" he asked, his voice +low. "I mean, how you were hurt and what +Rupert accuses me of?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. You are no one to them but +my new driver."</p> + +<p>A still ruddier color tinged the young face, the +fair head bent a little lower.</p> + +<p>"That is all I want to be, ever. Thank you, +Gerard; I'll make good."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>XII</h2> +<h3>THE MAKING GOOD</h3> + +<p>Corrie did not slip control during the weeks +that followed. There was no running wild to +record. At first he used to come in from his +driving reddened by more than the cold wind, +and there were rumors current of certain vigorous +word-duels between him and his sullen assistant, +Devlin. But he never complained to Gerard +or exhibited any smart of excoriated vanity. The +testers accepted him as a little more than their +equal, after watching him drive, and he gladly +met their comradeship with his own. It was very +easy to like Corrie; soon he was surrounded by +friends.</p> + +<p>Only Jack Rupert never spoke to him. The +thing was not done obtrusively, but it was done. +He never openly slighted Corrie Rose or showed +him discourtesy, he simply failed to come in contact +with him. And Corrie tacitly accepted the +situation, avoiding the inflexible mechanician, on +his part. So winter shut in, with blizzards that +frequently drove everyone off the roads until snow-ploughs +and shovels had accomplished their work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> +Then Gerard would summon Corrie to the inside +of the huge, reverberant factory, where amid its +lesser brothers the Titan racing machine was +slowly growing to completion; the Titan of +Gerard's past speed-visions, the dream-planned car +that was now for another's control. He taught, +and Corrie learned hungrily.</p> + +<p>It was in February Corrie first noticed that +Gerard and Rupert simultaneously disappeared +for an hour and a half every morning. No one +knew why, or had interested enough to speculate, +it seemed. Gerard always sent Corrie off on some +duty, at that time each day, and only accidental +circumstances awoke the young driver's attention +to a custom without an explanation.</p> + +<p>Of course, Corrie asked no questions. He was +not temperamentally curious and he was well-bred. +But, returning unexpectedly to the house, one +morning in early March, he passed Rupert going +out and realized himself encroaching on the tacitly +established period of retirement. Sobered, half-doubtful +of his course, he ran up the stairs, and in +the upper hall came suddenly upon Gerard leaning +against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Gerard!" Corrie exclaimed; goggles and +gloves fell to the floor as he sprang to his friend.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> +"Gerard, you're ill? Let me help you—lean on +me! I'm strong enough to <i>carry</i> you."</p> + +<p>"It is nothing," Gerard panted. "I tried to +come after Rupert in too much of a hurry, that's +all. I remembered something I had forgotten to +tell him. What are you doing here? I sent you +out."</p> + +<p>Once Corrie would have flashed hot retort to a +reproof certainly undeserved, not now.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry; I didn't understand," he apologized. +"You never said I <i>must</i> stay out. Let me +help you, get you something."</p> + +<p>"I know; I'm unreasonable!" Gerard +straightened himself. "Never mind me, Corrie; +I am all right now."</p> + +<p>He was white with a singular pallor that Corrie +was too inexperienced to recognize, but he smiled +reassurance to his assistant and himself led the +way to the room opposite.</p> + +<p>"There is some dose in the glass on the table," +he indicated, finding a chair. "I might drink it, +if I had it here. And, don't you want to get me +a cigarette?"</p> + +<p>In silence Corrie complied with the requests. +Beside the slight, colorless Gerard, he radiated +vigorous health and that scintillant freshness +drawn from days passed in sunlight and sweet air,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +but his eyes at this moment held a desperate +anxiety and unrest that left the advantage of contrast +to his companion's clear tranquillity of regard.</p> + +<p>"You are getting worse," he declared abruptly. +"There is no use of trying to spare my feelings, +Gerard; instead of gaining, you are losing +strength."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon; I am getting better," +Gerard corrected with perfect assurance. He put +aside his glass and leaned back in his chair. "You +do not in the least know what you are talking +about. Since you are here, we might get a bit +of business done that I had meant to leave until +you came in to luncheon. You understand that +the formalities must be preserved; are you willing +to sign one of our regular driver's contracts, to +drive for the Mercury Company this year, and for +no one else?"</p> + +<p>"I will do," said Corrie, "whatever you want. +Is this the paper?"</p> + +<p>He took up a pen and, still standing, wrote +his name across the foot of the document, the +other man's attentive gaze following his movements.</p> + +<p>"Is that the way you sign legal papers, Corrie, +without reading them?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>The blue eyes gave the questioner one expressive +glance.</p> + +<p>"You gave it to me," was the answer.</p> + +<p>Gerard contemplated him, then drew another +printed sheet from a pile on the desk and pushed +it across.</p> + +<p>"All right. I want you to sign this, too," he +signified.</p> + +<p>As carelessly as before, Corrie set down his +signature and turned away from the half-folded +page.</p> + +<p>"I came back early because I had a letter from +Flavia," he explained. "I wanted to answer it +right away. She says that father doesn't intend +to come home until autumn. I don't believe she +likes it much, but of course she wouldn't tell him +so. He has enough to stand."</p> + +<p>Gerard drew the two papers towards him and +put them into a drawer. It is hard to be consistent; +the temptation of seeing Corrie read +Flavia's weekly letters had long since vanquished +the resolution of the man whose love for her seemed +to himself to illustrate that the economies of +Nature do not include human passion. Corrie +found a willing, if mute, listener to all confidences +in regard to his sister.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She has never told Mr. Rose that you are +with me?" Gerard asked, to-day.</p> + +<p>"No," he responded, surprised. "Oh no! She +promised me that, the night before I left home."</p> + +<p>"Yet, living so close in thought with your +father as she does, I should have fancied——"</p> + +<p>"That she couldn't help telling him? I don't +know who started that story that women can't +keep secrets." Corrie laughed mirthlessly. "From +what I have seen, they can keep quiet a secret +that would tear itself out of any man I ever met, +if the wrench killed him."</p> + +<p>He unclasped the heavy fur coat he still wore +and pushed it aside from his throat with an impatient +air of oppression.</p> + +<p>"But Flavia could not hurt anyone, and she +knows that would hurt me," he added, more gently.</p> + +<p>Flavia could not hurt anyone. Allan Gerard +considered that statement, not so much in bitterness +as in a wonder that made all life uncertain. +He recalled the fountain arcade of rose-colored +columns and delicate lights, the sweetly demure +girl who waited there for her brother, and her last +brief glance of virginal candor and innocently unconscious +confession. Flavia could not hurt anyone. +Yet she had dismissed the man who loved +her, without even granting him the poor alms of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +courteous sympathy, had left him to learn her +decision from her silence. Long since, he had +decided that he had been condemned as the cause +of her beloved brother's downfall, and now he again +excused her hardness to himself as a result of her +over-tenderness for Corrie. Either that, or he +himself had somehow failed, in some way had been +found lacking.</p> + +<p>He never did Flavia Rose so much wrong as +to suppose her affected by the physical injury he +had suffered. If she had loved him, no such +change could have come between them. He knew +that no marring of her beauty would have had +effect upon his steadfast love for her, and he +rated her far above himself in all good things.</p> + +<p>It was quite a quarter-hour before Gerard looked +up and saw that Corrie had remained standing +by the table in an abstraction complete as his +own, lips pressed shut and straight brows contracted. +Startled out of self-contemplation, the +older man leaned forward to give his aid to a +moment whose bitterness he divined.</p> + +<p>"Corrie, take off your furs and come to +luncheon," he directed, crisply energetic. "You +have got to take out the Titan for its first run, +this afternoon."</p> + +<p>Effectively aroused, Corrie swung around.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The Titan?" he echoed. "To-day?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Come on."</p> + +<p>In the thin, clear March sunshine, two hours +later, the Mercury Titan rolled out onto the mile +track, shaking earth and air with its roar and +vibrant clamor. The force of testers and factory +operatives crowded about, busy men found time +to cluster at the buildings' doors and windows in +keen interest.</p> + +<p>Opposite Gerard and his little staff, the men +who had designed and evoked the winged monster, +Corrie Rose was in his seat, flushed with excitement, +but collected and at home in the powerful +machine which he was to be the first to test and +master. "Until you give it to its racing driver, +let no one except me take it?" he had begged of +Gerard. And Gerard had given the promise, +smiling oddly.</p> + +<p>But if Corrie was eager for the start, his +mechanician palpably was not. The place beside +the driver remained vacant until the last moment, +when the reluctant Devlin slowly climbed into it.</p> + +<p>"Devlin is nervous," Gerard gravely commented, +to his own one-time mechanician. "He is +a very good factory man, but this is too big work +for him. If they were going on a longer trip, I +should not like to send Corrie out with him."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ain't denying anything," snapped Rupert, +scowling after the departing car as it leaped for +the open track like an animal unleashed.</p> + +<p>That first afternoon's trial of the Mercury +Titan proved it much faster than either the track +or road would stand. Also, Corrie Rose was +proved fully capable of handling his wheeled projectile. +When he came in, at dusk, the testers +regarded him with unconcealed respect; there was +genuine admiration mingled with the congratulations +offered him by the car's designers. He had +become, after Gerard, the most conspicuous man +in the great automobile plant.</p> + +<p>Devlin crawled out of his seat and complained +of nausea.</p> + +<p>On the third day of practice, when Corrie +brought the car back to the factory at noon, +Rupert suddenly walked up to him and broke the +silence of months.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with your fifth cylinder?" +he demanded.</p> + +<p>Amazed, Corrie slipped off his mask and turned +his fatigued face to the questioner.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't help it," he deprecated, quite +humbly. "Devlin was too busy holding on to +do much, and I was driving."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rupert darted a glance of blighting contempt +at the sullen Devlin, and walked away.</p> + +<p>Gerard had not seen the episode, nor did it +reach his ears. But he was chatting with Corrie, +late on the same afternoon, when Rupert emerged +from the factory and thrust an overcoat at the +young driver who stood beside his car.</p> + +<p>"I ain't hanging out a diploma," he stated +acridly, "but this ain't summer by some months +and you're qualifying for a hospital—which I +don't guess is what you were brought here for."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," faltered Corrie, and wonderingly +put on the garment.</p> + +<p>Gerard continued to survey the machine before +him, not a flicker crossing his expression or betraying +consciousness of any unusual event. +Rupert's swift look of blended defiance and embarrassment +directed towards his chief glided off +an impenetrable surface.</p> + +<p>Corrie followed with wistful eyes the mechanician's +return to the building.</p> + +<p>"I knew a West Point fellow, once, who had +been given the 'silence' treatment—I used to +wonder why he minded so much," he laughed, +apropos of nothing, but his voice caught.</p> + +<p>It was the first time Corrie had ever admitted +knowledge of Rupert's ostracism of him, or re<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>vealed +how deeply the hurt had been felt. Gerard +laid a caressing hand on his shoulder, wisely saying +nothing. After a moment Corrie grasped the +Titan's steering-wheel and swung himself into his +seat behind it, but paused before summoning Devlin +to start the motor, and rewarded Gerard's +tact by another impulsive confidence, spoken just +audibly:</p> + +<p>"I miss my father all the time. I think I +always will. And I would miss him most if he +came home and I had to live along side of him. +He—well, he stays in Europe. I'll put up the +car for the night, if you're ready to have me; +it's getting pretty dark to run any more."</p> + +<p>"The car is in your hands; put it where you +please, when you please," responded Gerard; that +mark of trust seemed the only comfort he could +offer, then; he was too fine not to ignore the +other issues.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>XIII</h2> +<h3>THE TITAN'S DRIVER</h3> + +<p>There was a letter for Corrie in the evening +mail, next day. At least, there was an envelope +containing a gaudy picture-postal. It was at this +last that Corrie was gazing, when Gerard came to +remind him that dinner waited, and of it he first +spoke.</p> + +<p>"It's from Isabel. I—she need not have sent +it!" He abruptly pushed the card across the +table toward Gerard and turned away to complete +his preparations.</p> + +<p>"A postal?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. She used to be fond of writing long +letters, but she has quit the habit. Flavia tells +me she has not received but three postal-cards from +Isabel since they parted, although they used to be +such chums."</p> + +<p>"I am to read?"</p> + +<p>"If you like."</p> + +<p>The red and green landscape represented, +libellously, the Natural Bridge of Virginia. Across +the glazed surface ran a few blurred lines of script:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Dear Corrie:</p> + +<p style="text-indent: 2em;">May I marry someone else, if I want to, +or do you say not?</p> +<p class="ralign">I.R."</p> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerard laid down the card and regarded, +troubled, his companion's straight shoulders and +the back of his erect head, the only view afforded +as Corrie stood before his mirror employing a +pair of military brushes upon his unruly blond +hair.</p> + +<p>"I did not know that the affair—that matters +were so far arranged between you and your +cousin," he said.</p> + +<p>He spoke with hesitation, uncertain of how to +venture upon a subject never before broached +between them, yet feeling speech tacitly invited. +In the stress of his own suffering at the time following +the accident, preoccupied by the witnessing +of Corrie's hard punishment of dishonor and +grief and his struggle to fall no lower under it, +he had forgotten that the boy-man also had to +bear the loss of the girl upon whom he had spent +his first love. For it required no deep insight to +recognize that Isabel Rose was not the type of +woman who is a refuge in time of disaster.</p> + +<p>But the embarrassment was his alone; Corrie +answered without confusion:</p> + +<p>"We were engaged, yes. But that is ended. +She had no need to write. She might have known, +or have taken it for granted."</p> + +<p>Gerard studied the view presented of his com<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>panion, +striving to draw some conclusion from +pose or tone. He had no mind to have his work +of months marred and his driver distracted by an +interlude of useless sentimentality; the temptation +to congratulate Corrie upon his freedom from +an unsuitable marriage was almost too strong. +But what he actually said was quite different, and +escaped from his lips without consideration of +its effect.</p> + +<p>"I should not have supposed your cousin had so +fine and strict a sense of honor."</p> + +<p>The oval brush slipped through Corrie's +fingers and fell to the floor, rolling jerkily away +with the light glinting on its silver mounting in +a series of heliographic flashes. The owner +stooped to recover it, groping for the conspicuous +object as if the room were dark instead of flooded +with the brightness of late afternoon.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" he demanded. "What +did you say? Her sense of honor——?"</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," Gerard promptly apologized, +aware of worse than indiscretion. "I, +really, Corrie, I hardly realized what I was saying. +Certainly I did not mean that the way it +sounded. I only intended to say——"</p> + +<p>What had he intended to say? What could +he substitute for the spoken truth that would not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +wound the hearer either for himself or for the +girl he loved?</p> + +<p>"I only meant," he recommenced, "that her +asking your formal release showed a careful punctiliousness +not common."</p> + +<p>Corrie had recovered his brush, now. He laid +it on the chiffonier before answering.</p> + +<p>"How do we know what is common? What is +honor, anyway; what other people see or what +you are? I fancy she wouldn't have written if +she hadn't been sure of what I'd say," he retorted, +with the first cynicism Gerard ever had seen in +him. "She likes me to take the responsibility, that's +about all. Well, I've done it. Did you say I was +keeping dinner waiting?"</p> + +<p>This of the once-adored Isabel! However much +relief the older man felt, there came with it a +sensation of shock and regret. Had Corrie lost +so much of his youth, unsuspected by his daily +companion? Where were the old illusions which +should have blurred this sharp judgment? He +made some brief reply, and presently they went +downstairs.</p> + +<p>The dinner was rather a silent affair.</p> + +<p>"Do you want to drive me into town?" Gerard +inquired, at its conclusion. "I find that I must +see Carruthers before he leaves for the East, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +he is stopping at the Hotel Marion. If you are +tired, I will get my chauffeur."</p> + +<p>"I should like it," Corrie exclaimed, rising +eagerly. "I'll get the car. Your car?"</p> + +<p>"I should think so. I am not exactly anxious +to drive into town with your racing machine, +although we have got to make fair time in order +to catch him before his train leaves."</p> + +<p>Corrie laughed, turning away.</p> + +<p>"I'll make the time, all right," he promised. +"Your roadster isn't so pretty slow, considering. +I'll be at the door in three minutes."</p> + +<p>He was, driving hatless and without a motor-mask +in the fresh spring air.</p> + +<p>"No overcoat?" Gerard disapproved. "What +would Rupert say?"</p> + +<p>Corrie flushed like a complimented girl; that +the mechanician should have admitted him to any +intercourse, however cold and slight, moved him +so deeply that even Gerard's allusion was too much.</p> + +<p>"I have it with me; I don't need it," he +evaded hurriedly. "Ready?"</p> + +<p>"Ready."</p> + +<p>The car sprang forward.</p> + +<p>The yellow country road merged into macadam, +the macadam into asphalt. They were in the +city, presently, slowly rolling through streets +filled with playing children who garnered the last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +daylight moments. On one corner a hand-organ +was performing, and the group disporting itself +to the flat, tinkling music broke apart to shout +after the car, waving grimy hands.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Corrie!" one shrill voice came to +the motorists.</p> + +<p>The driver lifted his hand in salute, glancing +at his companion with a blended mischief and diffidence +so delightful, so much like the old merry +Corrie Rose, that Gerard laughed in sheer sympathy +of pleasure.</p> + +<p>"They seem to know you, Corrie?"</p> + +<p>"They do. At least, what they call knowing +me. You see, I blew out a tire here, on the way +home after you sent me in to the postoffice, last +week, and about three dozen kiddies gathered +around to watch me change it. Bully little frogs; +they nearly lost all the kit of tools trying to help +me. And talk! So I—well, I gave them all a +spin about the square, in blocks of as many as +could hang on at a time, and I set up the ice +creams all around. It seemed my treat. You +don't mind? I suppose they <i>are</i> full of germs +and want washing, but I just remembered they +were kids."</p> + +<p>"I certainly do not mind," Gerard assured. He +wanted to say something more, but found his +thoughts singularly inarticulate. There was a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +certain verse commencing with "Inasmuch——" +that he would have quoted to Corrie, had they +been of any blood but the reticent Saxon. "They +remembered part of your name," he added instead.</p> + +<p>"That was all I told them. The Hotel +Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Speed up all you dare, our time is +short."</p> + +<p>The time was indeed short. As they came +down the avenue, Gerard uttered an exclamation, +catching sight of a man who descended the hotel +steps toward a carriage.</p> + +<p>"Cross the street! There he goes. Quick, or +we'll lose him! Cross over."</p> + +<p>He was promptly obeyed. The car shot across +the street regardless of traffic rules, and was +brought shuddering to a halt beside the left-hand +curb. Gerard sprang out and went to join the +man who had stopped beside the carriage to wait +for his pursuer.</p> + +<p>Left in the car, Corrie took a leisurely survey +of the street, preparatory to withdrawing from +his illegal situation. But it was already too late. +Even while he looked, a blue-garbed figure appeared +around a corner, perceived the south-bound +automobile beside the east curb and marched upon +the offender.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> + +<p>To some temperaments there is an undeniable +exhilaration in conflict. Corrie puckered his lips +to a soundless whistle, settled back in his seat, and +waited.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing over here?" the officer +challenged, arriving. "Don't you know how to +drive? You're under arrest."</p> + +<p>"What for?" Corrie asked unmoved.</p> + +<p>"What for? How did you get a chauffeur's +license? For driving on the wrong side of the +street, of course."</p> + +<p>"I'm not driving."</p> + +<p>"Don't be funny, young fellow! For stopping +on the wrong side, if you like it better, then."</p> + +<p>"I'm not stopping."</p> + +<p>"You——?"</p> + +<p>"I am stopped. You did not see me do it. I +might have come out of one of those buildings, or +have come up on one of those sidewalk elevators, for +all you know. You can't arrest me for something +you didn't see me do, man. You wouldn't if you +could; I can see you have a sweet disposition."</p> + +<p>The officer stared, and took a more careful +survey of his antagonist.</p> + +<p>"You're no chauffeur, I guess," he pronounced +dryly.</p> + +<p>"Well, I've got a license."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That may be. Anyway, chauffeur or college +student, you can't stay here with that machine."</p> + +<p>"You want me to leave? Certainly, officer, I +always obey the law. Here comes my friend; +I'll go now."</p> + +<p>The policeman's face relaxed into a sour smile, +the nonsense snaring him into unwilling participation.</p> + +<p>"Do," he recommended. "The minute your +wheels move, you will be driving on the wrong side +of the street and I will pull you in."</p> + +<p>"When I drive on the wrong side of the street, +go ahead and do it. Are you ready to start, +Gerard?"</p> + +<p>Gerard, who had come up in time to hear +enough, had interpretation been necessary, put +an additional argument into the man's hand before +entering the car.</p> + +<p>"My fault, Johnston," he stated, with the quiet +serenity of one certain of his ground. "You know +I am not a law-breaker, I fancy; this was a case +of necessity."</p> + +<p>"It was your friend, Mr. Gerard——"</p> + +<p>Corrie reached for a lever, smiling ingenuously +across as he interrupted to reply.</p> + +<p>"The rule says to keep to the right, officer?"</p> + +<p>"Sure."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I am left-handed, that's all. Now look +at this."</p> + +<p>This was the execution of a movement that +sent the automobile rolling backwards.</p> + +<p>"You see, I go north on the east side," the +driver called, while the machine slid away. "All +right, yes? Nothing in the rules about which end +first you drive your car? No? I thought not. +Good-by."</p> + +<p>The car was at the corner, rounded it, and +darted away in the customary method of straightforward +progression.</p> + +<p>"But if this had been New York, I would be +in jail," Corrie added placid commentary, when +security was attained. "I know all about it; I +was arrested in Manhattan, once, for driving +without a license number displayed. The cords +must have broken and have let the number-plate +fall off. Much that policeman listened to me. He +ordered Dean into the tonneau with Flavia, +stepped up into the seat beside me and ordered me +to drive to the nearest police station."</p> + +<p>"What did you do?"</p> + +<p>"I drove. It cost me twenty-five dollars, a +week later, and I had to 'phone for the family +lawyer with bail to keep me from spending that +night in a cell. Father——"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> + +<p>The stop was full. Gerard turned his attention +to the street traffic, giving his companion liberty +to evade continuing the theme. The evasion was +not made.</p> + +<p>"Father," Corrie resumed, clearly and steadily, +"gave me this diamond I wear, when I told him, +so that I might always have something with me to +give as a bond for reappearance instead of having +to be locked up until I got help. He said one +might be caught without one's pocketbook along, +but not without one's ring. I have never taken +it off since."</p> + +<p>There was a change in his tone that Gerard had +heard before, and never had succeeded in analyzing; +not the change from gayety to gravity, +although that was present, but some more subtle +alteration that stirred the hearer to a strange, +illogical sense of discomfort and failure on his own +part. The feeling was transient and most unreasonable; +common-sense swept it aside almost +as it was formed. He said nothing, nor did his +companion speak again.</p> + +<p>The sunset glow and color were gone, but the +delicate after-light still remained as a luminous +presence in the land when the automobile entered +the boundaries of the Mercury Company's property. +There was a gate before the private road<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +to Allan Gerard's house. When Corrie halted the +car there and descended to open the way, a ragged, +unsavory figure rose from the grass before him.</p> + +<p>"I'll open it, mister," the man volunteered. +"Never mind it," as Corrie felt in his pocket for +coin. "I want more than that. Forgotten me, +have you?"</p> + +<p>Astonished, Corrie scrutinized him, seeking the +recollection implied.</p> + +<p>"You're the man in the <i>Dear Me</i>!" he identified +suddenly. "The man I threw overboard."</p> + +<p>"Ah! You're it." He drew nearer, blinking +intelligence. "I served you a square turn for +your grub and clothes, too. Get rid of your +friend; you an' me has got to talk."</p> + +<p>Before the bearing of confident familiarity, the +unclean personality and significant smile, Corrie +slowly stiffened in rigid distaste.</p> + +<p>"What do you want to say to me?" he demanded +curtly. "What do you mean by serving +me a square turn? Speak out. There is nothing +concerning me that my friend doesn't already +know."</p> + +<p>The man projected his unshaven chin, cunningly +interrogative. The intervening months had altered +him, not pleasantly. The tramp of the <i>Dear Me</i> +had been unattractive; this man was repellent.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is he on to what happened on the day before +the last Cup race? Given him the inside story +of that, have you? Or was he there?"</p> + +<p>The pause was not noticeably long.</p> + +<p>"He is Allan Gerard," said Corrie, his voice +suppressed. "Say what you wish."</p> + +<p>"I saw you ridin' past without a hat on, a +while ago, an' I knew you. Want? I want you +to stand somethin' for me to live on, Mr. Rose, +you bein' a millionaire. I was on the spot after +the smash an' heard the talk an' saw your wrench +picked up. You'd treated me right, so I just +lifted a bunch of tools from one of the machines +standin' empty, an' sprinkled them around that +twelve-mile race track. The newspaper fellows +found the things, too, an' kind of thought less +of findin' the one where you smashed Mr. Gerard. +One fellow help another, eh? No use of goin' to +Sing Sing, neither."</p> + +<p>Corrie's movement was swiftly accurate and uncalculated +as the leap of some enraged primitive +creature. His ungloved fist struck with an impact +sounding like the slap of an open hand, and +flung the man crashing through the hedge of lilac-bushes +to roll over and over on the ground, clutching +blindly at the turf strewn with broken leaf-buds.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Corrie!" Gerard cried stern warning, too late, +starting from his seat.</p> + +<p>Corrie swung about, his blue eyes blazing in +his flushed face, his lips parted in a scarlet line +across the white gleam of his set teeth.</p> + +<p>"If he comes near me again, I'll <i>kill</i> him!" he +panted savagely.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me you have done enough of that +sort of thing, already," Gerard retorted, equally +angered.</p> + +<p>The biting reminder was not premeditated; it +leaped out of brief wrath and all the aching +memories stirred by the episode. But it was none +the less effective. Gerard himself did not realize +how effective until he saw all the color and animation +wiped from the young face and saw Corrie +put his hand across his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Corrie!" he exclaimed, cut deeply by his own +cruelty, amazedly furious with himself. "Corrie——"</p> + +<p>Corrie had turned his back to him, not in offence, +but as a woman would cover her face. He +answered without moving.</p> + +<p>"It's—all right. I understand; it is—all +right."</p> + +<p>Gerard left the car, more humiliated in his own +sight than he ever had been in his life. For the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +moment his own lack of self-control loomed larger +than Corrie's, past or present.</p> + +<p>"Corrie, I said what I did not mean," he appealed, +laying his hand on the other's shoulder. +"Forgive me. Don't take it like this!"</p> + +<p>Corrie slowly turned to him.</p> + +<p>"There isn't anything you can say to me, that +I can complain of," he checked apology, quietly +serious. "It is all right, of course. I—no one +can understand just what it was like to hear him +talk that way to me, no one can, ever. But I +should not have struck him."</p> + +<p>The expression in his eyes as they encountered +Gerard's was not of remorse or shame, or resentment, +was not any mingling of these, but simply +of utter loneliness patiently accepted. Gerard +stood back in silence, helplessly aware of having +inflicted a hurt no contrition could heal.</p> + +<p>The man was sitting up, dazed and bruised, his +stupid gaze following his assailant. To him Corrie +went, dragging forth a handful of paper money.</p> + +<p>"Keep away from me," the victor cautioned +with harsh dislike. "I mean it. Here, take this +and go. I'm giving it to you because I knocked +you down and not because of anything you claim, +understand."</p> + +<p>The man grasped the money eagerly, peering +up with more admiration than sullenness.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've got a good punch, mister," he conceded. +"I'll get out. I wouldn't have come, only +I thought you'd really done what they said, that +time."</p> + +<p>Corrie drew back sharply, staring at the other. +His right hand was cut and bleeding from the +blow he had dealt, red drops trickled and fell as he +stood, but he did not seem aware of the fact, either +then or when he turned away to take his place at +the steering-wheel. Gerard took the seat beside +him without comment; he fancied he could imagine +very exactly what Corrie Rose, gentleman, was +enduring.</p> + +<p>But whatever Corrie had to endure then or at +any time, he was quite masculine enough to hurry +it out of sight. At the house, he turned to Gerard +his usual matter-of-fact glance.</p> + +<p>"I will put the car in the garage and go over +to the factory for a while," he said. "Mr. Edwards +was going to examine that throttle which +jarred open—on the Titan, I mean—so it would +be ready for me to start early to-morrow. I told +him I would be over, this evening."</p> + +<p>"As you like. But do not stay too long; the +house is lonely without you. And, do something +for that cut hand, Corrie, or it may make you +trouble."</p> + +<p>They looked at each other.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you," acknowledged the younger.</p> + +<p>The Titan was ready next morning, as due, +and the early start was made.</p> + +<p>The great machine had run for several days +without especial incident, but this morning Devlin's +nervous incompetency manifested itself in a new +direction. He forgot to fill the oil-tank of the +car he served as mechanician, before Corrie took +it out. One of the testers drove into the busy +courtyard, about ten o'clock, shouting the information +that the Titan was stuck eight miles out on +the back road and Rose wanted the emergency car +to bring him oil.</p> + +<p>Sardonic of eye, caustic of tongue, Rupert himself +attended to the carrying out of the request +and watched the rescuing car depart on its mission. +Half an hour later the Titan rolled past, missing +fire and running with a sound like a sick gatling +gun. Bare-headed and without his mask, Corrie +was driving with one hand and striving to aid his +mechanician's efforts with the other, as they swept +around the mile track. In gritting exasperation +Rupert stared after them, then snatched up a +red flag and ran to the edge of the road.</p> + +<p>Gerard, notified of trouble with the big car, +arrived from his office in time to see the Titan +halt, flagged, and the lightning strike Devlin.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Get out," snarled Rupert, his dark face black +with scorn, swinging one small arm in a wide +gesture. "I ain't had any explanation of what +you're doing behind anything except a baby-carriage, +and I don't want it. Get out and don't +come back. Quick!"</p> + +<p>Dazed, Devlin obeyed. Rupert dragged open +the motor's hood, busied himself for thirty +seconds and crashed the metal cover shut again. +As he flung himself into the seat beside the stupefied +Corrie, he first caught sight of Gerard standing +on the stone portal.</p> + +<p>"Better send someone to hold down the yard," +he sharply advised. "I ain't going to be there. +What?"</p> + +<p>Corrie had sufficient presence of tact to send +the car forward without pause or comment, not +daring to look at his new companion. But he +gathered a jumbled view of Gerard's mirthful +face and of Devlin standing sulkily at bay before +his grinning mates.</p> + +<p>When the Mercury Titan returned from its +morning's work, it was running with the velvet +purr of a happy tiger, the flames from its exhausts +shimmered in the violet tints of perfect mixture, +and the indicating dial pointed to the fact that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +Corrie had found some stretch of road where he +had passed the hundred mile an hour gait.</p> + +<p>"She's in exact shape," approved Gerard, who +had come out to meet them. "Good work, +Rupert."</p> + +<p>Rupert turned a hard dark eye upon him.</p> + +<p>"I ain't pining for this," he signified measuredly. +"But there's something coming to any +decent car, and this one's suffered cruel."</p> + +<p>Gerard nodded.</p> + +<p>"I have been wondering where I could find a +mechanician fit to race with Corrie this season," +he confided, nonchalantly serene.</p> + +<p>The double bombshell dealt full effect.</p> + +<p>"Well, rest yourself," urged Rupert tartly, +leaving his seat. "I'll do it. I know I'm a liar, +I guess, but that won't hurt my work none."</p> + +<p>"Race?" gasped Corrie. "Race? <i>I!</i>"</p> + +<p>One rebel vanquished utterly, Gerard surveyed +the other, preparing for his first conflict with +the new Corrie Rose he had himself created; the +Corrie Rose who in his twentieth year was a full-grown +man.</p> + +<p>"I have had you and the car entered for the +Indianapolis meet, next month," he announced; +"after that we are going to Georgia, then down +to try the sea-beach along the Florida shore, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +you can let out all the speed the machine has got. +Of course you will race. What else have you +been training for?"</p> + +<p>Corrie's full red lips closed, his blue eyes braved +Gerard's.</p> + +<p>"I will not. Gerard, I cannot. To go back +as the millionaire amateur of the pink car, to +stand the toleration of the professional drivers, +who cannot really handle their machines better +than I can mine, to know that the story of how +you were wrecked is being whispered after me—I'm +not big enough to face it all! I might be +challenged and sent off the track, for all I know."</p> + +<p>"You will not go back as an amateur," Gerard +corrected. "You are entered and registered as a +professional automobile racer, enrolled on the +books of the A.M.A., under their protection and +subject to their rules and authority for the future. +You will find your certificate of the fact lying on +your table. Yes, I did it without consulting you. +You signed the necessary papers yourself, without +reading them, and you cannot undo this without +a formal resignation—unless you contrive to +get yourself suspended."</p> + +<p>Corrie's fingers gripped the wheel, the varying +expressions changing his face like storm-swept<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +water, while the hunger of his gaze besought +Gerard.</p> + +<p>"You—it's <i>true</i>? Gerard, you've done <i>that</i> +for me? They, the A.M.A. officers, they accepted +me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Once for all, there are no whispers connecting +you with my accident. That matter is +dead. You go back to the racing as a recognized +driver in the employ of the Mercury Company, I +acting as your manager and Jack Rupert as your +mechanician. Do you think it probable that anyone +would credit the idea of trouble between us, +Corrie?"</p> + +<p>"Give me a moment, or I'll lose the only honor +I've kept," said Corrie Rose, and turned away +his face. "I shall do whatever you bid me, +of course."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>XIV</h2> +<h3>VAL DE ROSAS</h3> + +<p>On the day that Corrie in his American home +consented to drive the Mercury Titan through the +racing season, Flavia and Mr. Rose arrived at the +tiny Spanish village of Val de Rosas—arrived, +not so much through design as through the bursting +of a tire on their motor car.</p> + +<p>"It seems as if the name of the place might be +one of our lost titles," observed Mr. Rose idly. +"And there is the castle to match, on the hillside. +Come stroll through the town, my girl, while +Lenoir repairs damages."</p> + +<p>Smiling, Flavia stepped down beside him, throwing +back her silk veils and lifting her fair, almost +too delicate face to the Andalusian sunshine. After +her stepped a great dog, with the sedate, matter-of-course +bearing of a constant attendant.</p> + +<p>"I wonder who lives in the castle," she responded +to his mood of playfulness. "<i>Our</i> castle. +We should dispossess them."</p> + +<p>"Lets," proposed her father.</p> + +<p>There was an inn in the village, kept by a +ravishingly plump landlord of sixty who wore a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +short velvet jacket. He informed the travellers +that the diminutive white castle was not only +vacant, but to let, being the property of a mad +Englishman who had bought it to live in while +writing a book, and having finished the book had +departed. Mr. Rose regarded his daughter speculatively.</p> + +<p>"We have been going from one place to another +for five months, and we have got to put in six +more," he said with brief decisiveness. "I mean +to stay on this side of the water until fall. Do +you want to try living here for a while, or would +you rather keep moving?"</p> + +<p>"Let us stay here," Flavia voted eagerly. +"Dear, I am so tired of hotels."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose studied her as she stood, slim and +frail, before him, her large eyes fixed on his.</p> + +<p>"I guess we are tired of more than that, you +and I," he pronounced. "But I'll run up and see +if the place can be made fit to live in. You had +better rest here, in the shade; Frederick will take +care of you and Lenoir is within call. Here, +señor, set a chair here under these trees."</p> + +<p>She moved to the seat placed for her by the +deferential host, and watched her father's departure +up the winding road. They were both +thinking of Corrie, lacking whom all places were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +blank, with whom, in one winter's enthusiasm, they +had studied this soft Spanish tongue they now +used without him. They had planned a trip to +Puerto Rico, then, that never had been taken. But +Flavia also was thinking of Allan Gerard—Allan +Gerard, who loved Isabel and for whose sake Flavia +carried a double sorrow, his and her own. As he +had found excuses in his mind for her apparent +failure of him, so she on her part never had blamed +him for what she considered her own misunderstanding +of his purpose. They were not given to +the small vice of ready condemnation. There is +no comfort in blaming the one loved, where the +love is great.</p> + +<p>A murmur of wondering dismay aroused Flavia +from her musing, a sound scarcely louder than +the murmur of the bees busied among the heavy +waxen-white lemon-blossoms overhead. She lifted +her chin from her hand, and saw a brown-haired, +brown-skinned, brown-eyed girl standing on the +path, gazing at the huge dog that barred her +passage.</p> + +<p>"Pray do not be frightened," Flavia begged. +"Come here, Frederick! Indeed, he is only a +young dog and very gentle."</p> + +<p>"He is very large, señorita," the girl smiled, +half-reassured, half-fearful. "He bites, no?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, indeed. See."</p> + +<p>"He loves the señorita. That does not surprise," +with Latin grace of compliment.</p> + +<p>Flavia smiled, too, drawing the Great Dane's +bulky head against her knee.</p> + +<p>"I love him, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"One sees it, since he voyages with the señores +in that splendid automobile, where a man might +find place with joy."</p> + +<p>A wistfulness in the comment moved the listener +to give explanation, almost in apology for lavishing +upon an animal what might have rejoiced a +human being.</p> + +<p>"He is my brother's dog. But my brother +went away, and the poor dog grieved for him +all the time, except with me. I could not leave +him to fret, without either of us, so he came abroad, +too."</p> + +<p>"Across the ocean, señorita?"</p> + +<p>"Across the ocean. From America."</p> + +<p>The two young girls considered one another in +a pause full of cordial sympathy. Different in +race, station and experience, the bond of maidenhood +drew them to each other with delicate lines +of mutual comprehension and accord.</p> + +<p>"It is the dog's name which is on the great +silver-and-leather collar, or the name of the +señorita?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> + +<p>Flavia's small fair hand guided the plump +brown one tracing the legend upon the massive +band.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Federigo el Grande, que pertenece á Corwin +Basil Rose, Long Island</i>,'" she translated.</p> + +<p>"Don Corwin—that does not say itself easily!"</p> + +<p>"We called him Corrie."</p> + +<p>"Ah, that I can say; Don Corrie."</p> + +<p>The soft household name sounded yet softer in +the Andalusian accents. Flavia looked away, feeling +her lips quiver.</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me your name?" she asked, by +way of diversion. "Mine is Flavia Rose. Perhaps +we shall see more of each other, if I stay +here and you do also."</p> + +<p>"I am called Elvira Paredes, señorita. And I +shall be here—I cannot go for so long, so long, +perhaps never."</p> + +<p>Flavia leaned forward, her clear eyes questioning.</p> + +<p>"You want to go away? To leave this place +for some other?"</p> + +<p>The confidence came with an outrush of feeling, +a wealth of expression and expressive gestures.</p> + +<p>"Señorita, to join my betrothed. Ah, there +never was one like him, so beautiful, so brave, so +constant like the sun in rising! You cannot know. +No one can know who has not seen it. And sing!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> +Under my window he would sing until the birds +would hush, hush to listen. I have no marriage-portion, +I who am an orphan living with the sister +of my mother's cousin. Not for that did Luis +hesitate. But the time came when he must do +military service; serve in Morocco, señorita, serve +among savages who would torture him! And to +come back poor as he went. So he left. Far away +he journeyed, to New York, which is in America, +to find peace and make a home."</p> + +<p>"Where you will go to him?"</p> + +<p>"Señorita, we hope it. He works, I wait. We +write long letters. But it is three years. It costs +much to cross the ocean, and one grows old." The +brown eyes looked the tragedy of hope deferred.</p> + +<p>"For men must work and women must +weep——" The old refrain came to Flavia. +But not this woman, not if her American sister +could prevent. And the preventing was so easy! +She drew the girl down on the seat beside her, +impulsive as Corrie could have been.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Elvira—I may call you Elvira? Let +me help you. I have so much money, so much +more than I can spend, and I am not very happy. +Let me think that I have given you what I cannot +have; let me send you to Luis. My father will +tell us how, he will arrange everything so that you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> +will not have to trouble at all. We will send a +message to Luis so that he may meet you."</p> + +<p>"Señorita!"</p> + +<p>"You will let me? You will not say no? Why, +Elvira!"</p> + +<p>The girl dropped her face in Flavia's lap and +burst into hysterical tears, covering her hands +with kisses.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Rose returned, half an hour later, +this time in the big automobile whose rushing passage +stirred whirlwinds of dust on the age-old +road, his daughter met him eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Papa, I want to send Elvira Paredes to +America, to her fiancée. She is a kinswoman of the +inn-keeper, here. Will you arrange it for us? I +think she would be frightened if you sent her by +first-class, but second-class would be very nice. +She knows how to go in the train to Malaga, if +you get the ticket, and ships sail from there, do +they not? Oh, and would you cable to Luis +Cárdenas, in New York, so he will know she is +coming? I will find the street and number from +Elvira."</p> + +<p>His children long since had trained Mr. Rose to +be surprised at no charming vagaries. He contemplated +Flavia, amused, and well pleased with +her animation.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Found something to play with, eh? Very +good, we will fix it. But your Elvira will have to +wait until I get an answer from her lover through +the cable company; I'm sending no girls to New +York without knowing they'll land in the right +hands. Now, I believe that house up there will +suit. We'll have some luncheon and then drive +up for you to see it. I like the place, myself. It +opens well."</p> + +<p>It opened well, if the happiness of Elvira +Paredes was a good augury.</p> + +<p>"All the rest is from my father," Flavia said, in +parting from her. "But take this from me, to +wear or for a marriage portion, as you choose."</p> + +<p>The gift was a sapphire ring slipped from +Flavia's slim finger.</p> + +<p>"It resembles the eyes of the señorita; may +they always be as bright and clear," fervently +returned Elvira, who was an Andalusian and therefore +a poet.</p> + +<p>"That cost some money, when I bought it," +Mr. Rose practically observed, from his seat in +the motor-car. "Tell her not to flash it in New +York, alone, if she wants to keep it. You can put +that into classic Spanish for me, my girl."</p> + +<p>That was the beginning of an interlude whose +placid monotony was tempered by much equally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> +placid incident. The Americans liked the village, +and the village rejoiced in the Americans, so that +they came to know each other very well. More +than once Flavia thought of the legend of Al-Mansor, +and that if one of these days could be +deemed happy enough to record by a pearl, the +vase could be filled with the gem-chronicles, so +much alike were the weeks.</p> + +<p>For the white castle on the hill kept its visitors, +and so it happened that the summer most crowded +and busy of any Corrie ever had known, slipped +drowsily by in drowsy Val de Rosas for the two +most interested in him.</p> + +<p>He never told Flavia what he was doing. The +new Corrie Rose was more considerate than the +self-centred thoughtlessness of youth had permitted +the boy Corrie to be. He would have remembered +her anxiety for his safety and dread of +danger for him, of himself, but his silence was +further impelled by Gerard, who had pointed out—in +a few brief sentences that avoided Flavia's +name—the responsibility she must feel in keeping +such a secret from her father. But, because it +was so difficult to write to his "Other Fellow" +without telling her all, Corrie's letters came with +greater intervals and were less in length.</p> + +<p>"I am still touring with Gerard," he wrote to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> +Flavia, in the last note of his that came to Val de +Rosas. "Don't mind if my letters come slower, +please; I am pretty busy. I guess you will understand +what it means to me when I can say that I +am doing some work for Gerard and that he calls +it good. I wish it cost me more to do. I hope +father is well; you didn't say, last time. Keep +on writing often, you know, it's the next thing to +seeing you."</p> + +<p>He wrote that note the night after he broke a +track record in California, wrote it on the chiffonier +of the hotel bedroom while making ready +to attend a motor club dinner at which he was to +be chief guest in honor of the day's event. Four +weeks later Flavia read it, under the flowering +almond trees that surrounded the house so closely +as to overhang the balcony on which she sat. Read +it, then kissed the careless, boyish <i>Corwin B. Rose</i> +that slanted crookedly across the foot of the page. +Holding the letter, she sat quite still.</p> + +<p>From the room within drifted the voices of Mr. +Rose and the mild Father Bartolomé, between +whom the last months had established a cordial +basis of esteem. The village priest had dined with +them; it was in deference to his presence that +Flavia wore a gown whose lace collar came up +to her round chin, and now had left the two gentle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>men +to after-dinner conversation instead of herself +entertaining her father. She had the sense of +being horribly alone; her longing for Corrie became +physical pain, so that she crushed the letter +in her fingers, catching her breath with difficulty. +Close to one another they always had been, still +closer together trouble had drawn them, but now +half the world stretched its empty spaces between. +The impulse that goaded her was to cry out to her +father that she must see Corrie—to take her to +him—yet she did not speak or move, resolute in +endurance. To make that appeal to her father +would be to separate Corrie from Allan Gerard, +she knew, to bring her brother back to the +atmosphere of constraint and reproach to escape +which he had left the rose-colored Long Island +villa they called home.</p> + +<p>"Taxes are taxes," Mr. Rose's raised accents +set forth. "Governments have to be maintained. +If the tax collector is due to-morrow, Val de Rosas +has got to pay up."</p> + +<p>There was a murmured reply in the softer tones.</p> + +<p>"No money?" the American echoed. "I suppose +I could guess that." There came the crisp +sound of parting paper. "Now, if you will make +a figure for the total, Father, I'll give you this +check to pay for the whole thing. I've lived in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> +town five months, and I like the people—it's my +treat. No, I haven't counted the chickens and +measured the houses, but I can see the amount +isn't exactly ruinous. Now, we won't talk any +more about it; here you are."</p> + +<p>"Señor Rose," solemnly said the old man, with +inexpressible dignity and authority,—Flavia heard +him rise,—"this will be repaid by the One to +Whom you lend through the poor—repaid to you, +and to your daughter."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause.</p> + +<p>"You might include my son in that; I've got +one, you know," suggested Thomas Rose, carefully +casual.</p> + +<p>Flavia covered her eyes, and the tears trickled +through her slender fingers.</p> + +<p>When the moon was up and the pant of a +distant motor announced that the guest was being +conveyed to the village by Lenoir and the big automobile, +Flavia went in to her father. Both of +them maintained their usual composure, as they +smiled at one another across the room, but the +young girl's extreme pallor was not to be disguised +when she came into the light. Mr. Rose looked +at her, and continued to look.</p> + +<p>"You're not well, my girl," he asserted, concerned. +"Never mind drawing that curtain; come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> +over here. Don't you think it's time to tell me +why you sent off Gerard? I know how hard it +must have hit him, when he was down already, +and I've felt sorry often enough, but a man has +to take a woman's answer and I've said nothing. +But I believed at home that you liked him, and I +believe you have been fretting ever since."</p> + +<p>Flavia grasped the heavy curtain, gazing at him +in an utter confusion of thought that amounted to +actual giddiness.</p> + +<p>"I—I sent away Mr. Gerard?" she marvelled.</p> + +<p>"Who else? Or if you accepted him, why was +I not told?"</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me what you mean?" she asked +brokenly.</p> + +<p>"Mean? I mean that the last time I saw +Allan Gerard alone, on the day I met you and +Corrie driving home together, he asked my permission +to propose to you. I rather guess that +hour with him didn't make me very easy on Corrie, +although I was given no cause to be otherwise by +Gerard. Gerard said frankly that he wouldn't +have offered you such a wreck as he felt himself, +much as he loved you, if he had not gone so far +before he was hurt that he had no right to leave +in silence. He said that as a matter of honorable +justice he must lay the decision before you and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> +abide by your will. Very quiet, he was—I told +him that I would rather give you to him than to +any other man on earth, and I meant it."</p> + +<p>The room blurred before Flavia's dilated eyes.</p> + +<p>"You never told me! Papa, you never told +me!"</p> + +<p>The passionate cry of grief brought Mr. Rose +to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Told you? Gerard was to tell you. I wanted +to carry him home with me that afternoon, but he +refused. In fact, he was not fit, nor I either, to +stand any more sentiment just then. He said he +would write and ask you to see him, if you cared +to have him speak or come back at all. That trip +West he had to take. Didn't he write?"</p> + +<p>She saw the softly-lighted little room at home +where Jack Rupert had come to her, and Isabel's +suffused, desperate face as she snatched the letter +from its owner. And as a pendant picture she saw +the bleak, solitary railway station in the gray +December morning, where Gerard, ill and reft of +his splendid strength, had waited alone for the +girl who did not come.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose reached her as she swayed forward.</p> + +<p>"Take me home," she gasped, clinging to him +with small fierce hands. "I never knew. Dear, +take me home."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next morning they left Val de Rosas.</p> + +<p>It is a long journey from Andalusia to New +York. But it was on the morning they boarded +the ocean liner that Mr. Rose purchased a New +York journal—and met a news item that gave +him material for thought during the rest of the +trip. The item was on the sporting page, and +stated that the Cup race course was now open for +practice; among the first of the cars to commence +training being the Mercury Titan, driven by Corrie +Rose—one of the cleverest young professionals +in America, whose work with the Mercury Company's +special racing machine had given the +greatest satisfaction to its owner and designer, +Mr. Allan Gerard.</p> + +<p>There was no longer any cause for concealment. +When Mr. Rose carried the journal to +Flavia, she told him quite simply to whom Corrie +had gone in his exile and what she knew of his +life with Gerard. Of his racing she herself had +been left ignorant; she could guess whose forgiving +tenderness had spared her that anxiety.</p> + +<p>"You are not angry with Corrie," she ventured, +before her father's knit brow and squared jaw. +"You did not forbid him to race or he would not +have done so, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"No, I did not. I didn't think I had to," was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +the dry response. "Angry? He and I are past +that. The days are gone when we used to have +our differences and shake hands on them. We'll +get along together quietly enough, I dare say."</p> + +<p>"Now, I would rather you said you were +angry," she grieved.</p> + +<p>Thomas Rose thrust his hands into his pockets, +looking down at the newspaper page. He had +altered during the last year in a way difficult to +characterize. It was not that he looked older or +more hard, there was no bitterness in the strong +face, but he looked like a man who stood in the +shadow instead of in the sun.</p> + +<p>"So would Corrie, I fancy," he said heavily.</p> + +<p>Corrie's sister folded her hands in her lap.</p> + +<p>"Is there no chance if one falls once?" she +rebelled in futile reproach. "He was so young, +he has suffered so much—can he never pay?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not much of a reader, as a rule, but I +did a good deal of it at Val de Rosas, this summer," +Mr. Rose slowly returned. "And a line from an +Englishman's work stuck in my memory. He +said that tears can wash out guilt, but not shame. +I can give Corrie all I've got, I have always been +fond of him and I am yet, but I can't give him my +respect. It was a shameful thing to strike down +an unprepared man from behind, because he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> +losing in a game. Some things can't be paid for, +because they are not bought and sold. Of course +he will have every chance possible. He isn't what +I supposed; well, there is no use of complaining, +we will make the best of what he is. I sent him +away while we settled down to living on the new +basis; I guess we are as ready to go on, now, as +we ever will be."</p> + +<p>"If he heard you say that, I think he would +die," she stated her hopeless conviction.</p> + +<p>"People don't die so easily, my girl. I tell you +he and I will get along well enough. Pass me +those books over there."</p> + +<p>Flavia obeyed, having no words. Mr. Rose sat +down and compared the date of the steamer's +probable arrival with that of the Cup race.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>XV</h2> +<h3>THE STRENGTH OF TEN</h3> + +<p>It had required more than eloquence or tact, +it had required actual compulsion to bring Corrie +Rose back to race at Long Island. All his successful +work, all the cordiality that met him wherever +he went, and the temptation to essay new conquest, +failed to overcome his repugnance. But he could +not defy Gerard.</p> + +<p>"I don't see how <i>you</i> can bear to look at the +place," he had flung, in his final defeat.</p> + +<p>"My dear Corrie, I am not any further from +that here than there," Gerard had quietly replied.</p> + +<p>Corrie understood, and submitted dumbly thereafter. +And, in spite of himself, his first day's +practice on the course swept everything aside +except eager exhilaration. He was too superbly +healthy for morbidity, too masculine for continuous +dwelling in memories; if Gerard had not been +very certain of that fact, he would never have +brought his ward there. When Corrie was driving, +Corrie was happy. He drove with a sober intensity +of devotion, his passion was serious, +whereas Gerard had raced fire-ardent and won or +lost laughing.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> + +<p>There was a small hotel near the course which +the motor-men had made a rendezvous. Here +Gerard established his party, during the two +weeks of practice work. He did not choose to +have Corrie in New York, although Rupert chafed +and he himself was obliged to go in to the city +frequently, at considerable inconvenience.</p> + +<p>On the last afternoon before the race, he returned +from such a trip, and arrived before the +hotel just as Corrie rolled up with the Mercury +Titan and halted it opposite him.</p> + +<p>"It's five o'clock," the driver explained, stilling +his roaring motor and leaning out. "Everyone +is coming in, to get ready for to-morrow."</p> + +<p>There was little trace left of the petulant, +gaudily dressed boy who a year before had driven +the pink car, in this serious young professional +clad in the Mercury's racing gray and bearing +the Mercury's silver insignia on his shoulder. The +bend of his mouth was firmer, his dark-blue eyes +had acquired the steady, all-embracing keenness +of Gerard's—the gaze of all those men with whom +the inopportune flicker of an eyelid may mean +destruction. He was clothed with his virile youth +as with a radiant garment, as he smiled across at +Gerard.</p> + +<p>"Yes, get some rest; you will be out at dawn,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +approved Gerard, coming closer. "Where is +Rupert? What is the matter, Corrie? You look +disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Rupert got off at the corner, back there. I +suppose if I look rattled, that <i>he</i> is what is the +matter. He——" Corrie suddenly dropped his +face in his folded arms as they rested upon the +steering-wheel, his shoulders shaking.</p> + +<p>"He? How? He has been talking to you?"</p> + +<p>"He sure has been talking to me," Corrie +affirmed, lifting his laughter-flushed face. "When +I think that he once gave me the silence treatment! +His tongue would take the starch out of +a Chinese laundry and make a taxicab chauffeur +feel he couldn't drive."</p> + +<p>"You do not let him talk to you when you are +driving!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, when I am driving he is the perfect +mechanician. He wouldn't open his lips if I hit +a right-angle turn at ninety miles an hour or +disobey if I told him to climb out and cut the +tires off the rear wheels. No, it is when I am not +officially driving that he gives me some remarks +to study about. Good pointers, too! I like it, +really. I only wish," his expression shadowed +abruptly, "I only wish I didn't have to remember +that nothing could bring him to shake hands with +me."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Corrie——"</p> + +<p>"I know—I beg your pardon for speaking of +that to you. But, Gerard," he bent to grasp a +lever, "I'd take what you got last year, I'd consent +to be picked up dead from under my car +to-morrow, if I could that way buy one hour to +stand clean before you and Jack Rupert. That's +all—don't think I want to flinch, please. If you +will go on in, I'll put this machine away and be +back to dinner in fifteen minutes. I see Rupert +coming to help me, now. We're starved to death +and some tired. By the way, George shouted +over to me that he would be in as soon as he got +the Duplex canned for the night, and to order a +few dozen eggs and a couple of hams fried for him. +Would you attend to it on your way in?"</p> + +<p>"I surely would," Gerard answered, the great +gentleness of his tone mating oddly with the light +words. "What do you want ordered for yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Anything, and plenty of it."</p> + +<p>Gerard did not smile as he went into the building. +He too would have given much to spare +Corrie Rose the memory of that October morning's +fault. From all punishment except that memory +he had sheltered him, further aid no one could +give. But because he loved Corrie, he climbed the +hotel stairs in slow abstraction and failed to per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>ceive +the limousine that came up before the Mercury +Titan, and stopped.</p> + +<p>He was standing by a table in the empty parlor +of the hotel, when the door opened, and closed. +Thinking some other guest had entered, he did not +turn from the letters he was reading, nor was there +any further movement or demand upon his attention. +That which slowly invaded his consciousness +was a summons more delicate than sound, a faint, +distinctive flower-fragrance that proclaimed one +individual presence. Flavia Rose was in the room; +he knew it before he swung around and saw her +standing there.</p> + +<p>The shock that leaped along his pulses was less +of hope than of renewed pain.</p> + +<p>"Miss Rose!" he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>She moved a little forward. Against her dark +velvet gown, under her wide velvet hat, her soft, +earnest face showed whitely lustrous and irradiated, +her beautiful eyes dwelt on his.</p> + +<p>"I never knew," she said, her clear voice like +rippled water. "Your letter, the night before you +went away, never came to me. I never knew you +had sent for me, until last month."</p> + +<p>The movement that brought Gerard across the +room was as nakedly passionate as the incoherent +simplicity of her speech.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You never knew? Flavia, you would have +come?"</p> + +<p>"I would have come; I wanted to come long +before, while you were so ill——"</p> + +<p>They had waited a year on the verge of that +moment; it was enough to touch one another in +this security of understanding. There was no +question between them, no doubt, now that they +saw each other face to face; all their world flowered +into light and fragrance, present and future +one dazzling marvel.</p> + +<p>But at last they drew slightly apart, gazing at +each other with an incredulity of such happiness, +both Flavia's little hands held in the firm clasp +of Gerard's left. And then gradually awoke +amazement that they could ever have been +separated, who were so closely bound together.</p> + +<p>"My dear, my dear, you knew I loved you," he +wondered. "How did this happen to us?"</p> + +<p>"How could I know? You had never said it."</p> + +<p>"Did I need to? I thought the very stones in +the fountain arcade must have seen it. And I +trusted Rupert with the letter; he said he had +given it to you, he even brought an answer."</p> + +<p>"Do not blame him," she quickly defended. +"He told you that he had given it to Miss Rose; +he meant to Isabel, who claimed it."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Your cousin? What had I to do with her? +Why should I have written to her? Have written +<i>that</i>, Flavia!"</p> + +<p>The tears rushed to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Your letter—Allan, if I had known that message +was for me, I would have gone back with +Rupert to you that evening. But Isabel took it, +for some reason she expected a message from you, +that night. I have not been able to understand +that, although I have tried ever since papa told +me, last month, that it was I whom you chose. She +spoke of something Corrie had said. I—I think +she believed you did care for her more seriously +than she had meant you should. She was so very +sure the letter was for her—and you did not call +me Flavia once."</p> + +<p>"I had no right, I dared not. Dear, I had had +a bad month; I did not remember that any Miss +Rose but you existed. I used to close my eyes, +when things were worst, and see your eyes against +the dark. There were days when I did not see +much else. But they were not so bad, no day ever +was so bad as the morning Corrie came to the +station without you. Forgive me, I hurt you!"</p> + +<p>She shook her fair head, wordless. Quiet from +the very vehemence of feeling that possessed them +both, Gerard stooped and kissed her.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will you marry me soon, Flavia? After this +race, when Corrie can be with us? Let us waste +no more time apart; I have wanted you so long, +so very long."</p> + +<p>The lovely color flushed her transparent face, +but her fingers clung to his.</p> + +<p>"All the way home from Spain, I have been +remembering that I really was betrothed to you +this whole year," she answered, not turning from +him the innocent candor of her clear gaze. "Before +that, before I knew the truth, I used to think +how strange a thing it would have been if you had +died in the accident and I had lived all the rest +of my life believing myself promised to you, when +in fact you had loved Isabel, not me. I used to +think, often, of that first day when I fell on the +stairs at the Beach race track—when you caught +me and held me close to you—and how you would +never again hold me like that or miss not doing +so. I am quite sure that no one ever was wanted +so much as I have wanted you. It may not be +right to tell this even to you, but it is true. And I +will marry you whenever you ask, Allan."</p> + +<p>Allan Gerard, man of the practical world and +the twentieth century, went to his knee on the +floor of the hotel parlor and hid his face against +her hand.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> + +<p>The room was rosy with the glow of sunset, +when someone discreetly knocked. In response to +Gerard's invitation to enter, the door opened and +revealed the wiry, jersey-clad form of Rupert on +the threshold. Grimy yet from his recent employment, +he was engaged in deftly winding a +strip of antiseptic gauze around his wrist while he +spoke.</p> + +<p>"I ain't one to invite li'l' Artha' Brownskin to +meet the A.M.A. on Sunday," he began discontentedly, +and broke off at sight of Flavia.</p> + +<p>"I don't need to introduce you to Miss Rose," +smiled Gerard. "What have you done to your +wrist? Much?"</p> + +<p>"Scratched it threading my sewing-machine; +I'll be able to sit up in bed to-morrow," reassured +the mechanician, his acute black eyes travelling +from the young girl to his chief. "I didn't mean +to run into this camp without being signalled. As +I was saying, I ain't one to promote trouble, but +there's a gentleman downstairs who's calling off +our race."</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rose is explaining to our driver that he +ain't fit to be allowed on a race course. And no +one's opposing his remarks any."</p> + +<p>Gerard divined the situation.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go down," Flavia begged, as he turned to her. +"I have been selfish to keep you here; I might +have known! But I saw Corrie just for a moment, +then father sent me to you. Go to Corrie; Mr. +Rupert will bring me."</p> + +<p>"I can guess that I'm a fierce bad postman," +Rupert dryly acknowledged. "But I ain't likely +to confuse ladies on the way downstairs. You're +sure needed below."</p> + +<p>In the empty paved space before the hotel, the +Mercury Titan still reposed its massive bulk, with +its driver in his seat, his fair head uncovered in the +pink-and-gold light and his face turned to the +man who stood beside the car. There was neither +heat nor resentment in either Mr. Rose's expression +or his son's as the older man came over to +shake hands with Gerard. Corrie did not move; +his left arm was thrown about the neck of the huge +dog reared up beside him against the machine.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you looking so well," Mr. Rose +briefly greeted. "I have been talking to Corrie, +here, while we waited for you, Gerard, but this +thing won't do."</p> + +<p>"What won't do, Mr. Rose?" Gerard questioned, +equally matter-of-fact.</p> + +<p>"You know, and Corrie knows. I appreciate +the way you have stood by him and the way he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> +has kept to his work—I'm proud of it—but this +isn't a question of how any of us three feel. I am +sorry to hurt him, but we have got to face facts. +A man who loses his temper is not fit for certain +places; a race track is one."</p> + +<p>"The Corrie Rose whom I know and who +trained under me is fit for any place," Gerard +gravely maintained. The work of months was on +the verge of loss; he gauged very exactly what +this sentence would result in for Flavia's brother.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose glanced towards his son; if his powerful, +square-cut face was inflexible, it was without +hardness.</p> + +<p>"Gerard, I am sorry," he repeated. "It's like +you to overlook what happened to yourself and +try him again; he and I have got more to consider +and to be responsible for. He might race straight +for years, yes, forever; but his temper might +slip him to-morrow. I know he means right, but +it can't be chanced. I'll risk seeing no more men +picked up as you were. Corrie, whenever I've +said must—that hasn't been often—you've answered. +I think you will now. Get off that +machine and come home with me, my boy; we will +try a fresh start, you and I."</p> + +<p>Corrie stirred slightly; even his lips were gray +and dark circles appeared suddenly stamped be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>neath +his eyes. He offered no defence or demur, +but before his movement could spell obedience +Gerard had sprung across the intervening space +and dropped his left hand on the driver's arm, +forcing him to retain his seat.</p> + +<p>"Stay there," he commanded curtly. "You +are my employee, under contract to drive my cars +this season; if you break your signed agreement +I will bring you up before the A.M.A. board +and have you suspended for unprofessional conduct."</p> + +<p>Corrie gasped as from a dash of cold water in +the face, the rough tonic effectually bringing him +out of his daze of habitual submission.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rose, this is not sentiment, but business," +Gerard continued in his usual tone. "Corrie is +not racing to-morrow for the first time, or for the +fifth or sixth, this season. He is the cordially +liked and respected comrade of his fellow-drivers—there +is not one who would not laugh in your +face at the idea of fearing to have him among +them. I tell you, for the rest, that any other +man on the course might let his nerves trick his +self-control; Corrie Rose never will. I know +him, now, better than you yet can. But," he +snatched a rapid survey of Corrie, then lifted his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> +hand from the other's arm and drew back, "he +is not a child; let him decide."</p> + +<p>"Corrie——" his father recommenced, his +voice choked.</p> + +<p>But Corrie had found himself. He laid one +firm, gauntleted hand on the beloved steering-wheel +and turned to Mr. Rose the serious countenance +and steadfast eyes of the new Corrie of the +Mercury's making. With the other hand he +pressed the dog's great head closer to him; perhaps +only Allan Gerard saw and translated the +pathos of that unconscious gesture.</p> + +<p>"I would do anything else, sir," he stated +simply. "But Gerard has stayed by me through +the worst time I will ever have. I know—you +gave me money; but he helped me <i>live</i>. Afterward +I will do whatever you bid me, now I cannot +leave him without a driver on the eve of a race. +All the more," his speaking glance went to +Gerard, "all the more I must stay, because he +would rather hold me strictly to a business contract +than remind me that I owe him anything or +that it is through me that he is not driving this +car himself."</p> + +<p>There was a moment of absolute silence. Then +the rustle of soft garments came with Flavia's +swift crossing from the doorway where she and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> +Rupert had witnessed the contest. Straight to +the side of the gray machine she went, and clasping +her little hands over her brother's arm, raised +to him the high trust and unchanging love of +her regard.</p> + +<p>"Dearest, I hope you win, to-morrow," she said +bravely and sweetly. "But kiss me, Corrie, and +come home afterward. We need you, papa and +I—and Allan."</p> + +<p>"Other Fellow," he thanked her, under his +breath, and leaned down to give the caress.</p> + +<p>Gerard and Mr. Rose were looking at each +other.</p> + +<p>"You win," conceded the older man, without +rancor. "I hope we are not sorry. Bring him +to the house after you get through, to-morrow, I +guess we'll be a family party."</p> + +<p>The snorting uproar of an arriving racing car +crashed across reply.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Rosie, did you rope those hams and +eggs?" blithely shouted the masked driver, checking +his machine. "If you didn't, I'll hook a wheel +off your cart to-morrow when I pass you. Why +haven't you canned your car yet? Oh, excuse +<i>me</i>!" perceiving Flavia.</p> + +<p>"I roped them, George," assured Corrie. "I'm +coming in, now."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rupert advanced to the front of the Mercury.</p> + +<p>"You're giving orders," he signified to his +driver. "Do I crank?"</p> + +<p>The slight episode was the fitting period to +Gerard's argument; he gave Mr. Rose his fine, +cool smile to point it.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Frederick the Great did not go home to the +pink villa. Not even Flavia could win him from +the master he had refound. So it happened that +when Gerard went to Corrie, after midnight, he +discovered his driver seated beside an open window +in the drab, cheerless hotel bedroom, his arms +folded on the sill and the dog's head resting on +his knee.</p> + +<p>"Corrie, do you know it is past twelve o'clock?" +he exclaimed, purposely authoritative in spite of +his aching pity. "I saw the light over your +door and came in to give you what Rupert describes +as a calling down. How do you expect +to be up fresh and fit for a race at dawn? You +go to bed, young man, where I sent you two good +hours ago."</p> + +<p>"I am going," Corrie replied, without turning. +"I'm—all right. Gerard——"</p> + +<p>The pause was so long that Gerard came quietly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> +over and put his hand on the other's shoulder, +waiting.</p> + +<p>"Gerard, do you remember what Rupert once +said, in the yacht club where we fed the tramp, +about my getting just what I earned and that no +luck would soften my brick walls? And I said +I was content because I meant to earn what I +wanted. I didn't know what I was talking about, +but he was right. I'm not complaining, you know; +it's fair enough. No, don't answer yet; that isn't +what I meant to say."</p> + +<p>The dog moved restlessly and whined, nestling +closer to the master he loved. Corrie dropped a +hand to the animal's neck.</p> + +<p>"This good old chap and I will go to bed, +presently. We've got to win, to-morrow; it's the +last time. Gerard, did you ever read a poem +Flavia and I used to like, I wonder? About a +man having the strength of ten, because his heart +was clean? Do you believe it—I mean, that a man +can stand more if he knows he is right inside +than if, if he could not think that?"</p> + +<p>"Corrie, yes, I do believe it. But there are +few stainless Galahads. Strength and rightness +do not depend on the past, but the present. The +finest strength I have seen, has been in men who, +who——"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> + +<p>The intended conclusion died on his lips, before +he found words to soften its intrinsically harsh +implication. Corrie had turned to him a glance so +clear, a face so startling in its white resolution +and dignity of fearless candor, that Gerard drew +back with a sensation of rebuked presumptuousness. +What he had offered as a consolation suddenly +loomed as an insult.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Corrie, quite simply. +"You're awfully good to me, Gerard. I don't +know why I said all that—I, I guess something +slipped. Good night; Fred and I will get some +sleep. It's a short night, anyhow."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>XVI</h2> +<h3>THE WHITE ROAD OF HONOR</h3> + +<p>The ruddy dawn that flushed along the edge +of the east illuminated a vast, waiting multitude. +For its twelve miles of twisted length, the narrow +ribbon of the Cup course was walled in on either +side by the massed people and uncounted +hundreds of automobiles. The neighboring +States, the great cities of New York and Jersey, +the countrysides far and near had emptied their +motor-car enthusiasts and sport lovers into this +strip of Long Island, for to-day. Laughing, eating +picnic breakfasts, laying wagers and preparing +score-cards, the crowd swayed tiptoe on the +keen edge of expectancy; while up and down the +course drove and pushed the hurrying hundreds +who had not yet found satisfactory place.</p> + +<p>As the dawn brightened into full, golden +October day, the crush became greater, the haste +and anticipation more intense. When a spluttering +roar announced one of the arriving racers, +the press would open, cheering, to leave his car +passage and close in behind him with boisterous +comment and criticism.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That was the six Atlanta, Louis driving, +wasn't it, Dick?"</p> + +<p>"Rub your eyes, you're asleep yet—that was +the Mercury, Rose up. Can't you tell a peach +from a lemon? Quit shoving, there!"</p> + +<p>"Bet you ten a foreign car wins."</p> + +<p>"Take you. It'll be the Bluette or the Mercury. +Get back, here comes another. They start in +twenty minutes."</p> + +<p>Opposite the grand-stand the excitement was +greatest, but most orderly. Around the row of +repair pits men ran in and out, hovering about +their cars with solicitous final attentions and +eager encouragement to the smiling drivers. The +first machine was already at the starting-line, +ready as an arrow on the cord, its pilot smoking +a cigarette and chatting indolently with the official +starter.</p> + +<p>"I drew second for you, last night," Gerard +reminded his driver, leaning against the Mercury +to look up at him. "Of course, you have your +numbers on. You will have to get into line in a +moment; don't you want to get out and move +about, first? You are going to have six or seven +hours' grind."</p> + +<p>"I'm rested best right here," responded Corrie +placidly. He nestled himself more snugly into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> +his seat and proceeded to fasten on the mask and +hood that quenched his blond youth into kinship +of blank identity with every other driver on the +course. "The crowd is pretty thick; I hope they +get the people off."</p> + +<p>"The police are clearing the way, now. +Corrie——"</p> + +<p>The thunderous voice of the car from the next +camp interrupted speech as it went past them.</p> + +<p>"Good luck, Rosie! I'll leave your rear wheels +alone," shouted its driver. "By-by, Allan."</p> + +<p>"If he's worried bad about his, I'll lend him a +safety-pin from my shirtwaist," drawled Rupert, +lounging up, hooking his own mask. "I ain't +muck-raking, but he broke his rear axle at Indianapolis, +last month, and lost two wheels."</p> + +<p>"Corrie," Gerard pursued, "you are to bring +yourself back safely. I do not want any victories +at the price of your wreck. Remember that I am +responsible for your being at this work, and remember +Flavia."</p> + +<p>"If I wreck my car there won't be <i>any</i> victory," +Corrie practically returned. "Besides, I have +got Rupert with me to be looked after; if I were +making a speed dash by myself I might take a +chance or two. You never let me out alone. It's +all right. They are signalling."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rupert sprang into his seat like a rubber ball, +bracing one small legging-clad foot for support; +not the least of a racing mechanician's arts being +that of clinging at all times to his reeling post of +duty. Gerard held out his hand for Corrie's parting +clasp, then exchanged a warm grip with +Rupert. Between the driver and mechanician who +were to play the perilous game side by side, there +passed no such friendly touch. Gerard never +looked at the watching violet-blue eyes of the third +man during that farewell ceremony.</p> + +<p>"Take care of yourselves," he bade.</p> + +<p>"It's a nice morning for a ramble," observed +Rupert. "Don't worry, love, we'll be in to tea."</p> + +<p>The Mercury Titan rolled into place in the +line of flaming, panting machines. The driver of +the first car threw away his cigarette and sat up. +There was a pause while the group of officials +poised, watches in hand, the people rose, then the +starter leaned forward and the first car sprang +from the line.</p> + +<p>Amid the gay tumult of music and cheers, Corrie +waited the half-minute interval, his eyes on the +counting official, his hand on the lever, until the +starter's hearty clap fell on his shoulder with +the word:</p> + +<p>"Go!"</p> + +<p>With an explosive roar the Mercury shot across<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> +the line and rushed, gathering speed in long leaps, +down the white course. Under the first arched +bridge, out of sight it flashed, followed by an +answering roar from the countless throats of those +between whose dense ranks it sped.</p> + +<p>Gerard moved back a few paces. He had become +rather pale and grave; his gaze remained +fixed on the distant arch through which the Mercury +had vanished, nor did he turn to watch the +sending away of the other nineteen racers.</p> + +<p>The touch laid on his sleeve was feather-light.</p> + +<p>"I could not stay away," pleaded Flavia, beside +him. "May I watch Corrie with you, Allan?"</p> + +<p>He wheeled eagerly, catching her retreating +hand before it escaped from his arm.</p> + +<p>"I know why Corrie calls you 'Other Fellow,'" +he welcomed. "It is because you always know +the right thing to do."</p> + +<p>They looked at each other in the morning +brightness, revelling in the fresh wonder of +mutual possession.</p> + +<p>"This is hurting you," she grieved. "I saw +you before you did me, when the cars started—you +were thinking that last year you yourself +would have been there."</p> + +<p>He checked her with the warm brilliance of his +smile.</p> + +<p>"Not of myself," he denied. "If there was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> +anything to regret, do you think I could remember +it since I have you? No, I was thinking that +Corrie is barely twenty, that I had trained him +and sent him out there in that machine in defiance +of his father's wish—in fact, I believe I had an +attack of remorseful panic."</p> + +<p>"You did it for Corrie," she gave swift comfort. +"Can you suppose that papa and I do not understand +that? You could have found drivers already +skilled, for your car; instead you troubled to +take him and make him what he is now. He is so +different from the desperate boy we left, Allan. +Whatever happens out there to-day, you have +done the best for Corrie."</p> + +<p>The feverish activity of the camps was swirling +around them. Gerard gently drew the young girl +to the place where his private roadster waited, +somewhat aside from the centre of action, and +put her in the scarlet-cushioned seat. After her +paced Corrie's dog and took its place beside her +in stately guardianship.</p> + +<p>"You can see everything here, and it is not so +rough for you," he explained. "Flavia, a year +ago I bought this, when I bought the yellow roses +on the night before my last drive. Will you let +me take off your little glove and put it on your +finger, now?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her lashes sparkling wet, Flavia bent to him, +and in the face of crowds and camps Gerard set +his ring on her hand.</p> + +<p>Men were leaning over railings, holding ready +watches open. At the repair pit next but one to +the Mercury's, the mechanics and men in charge +had drawn together in whispering groups.</p> + +<p>"Car coming!" the word passed suddenly from +lip to lip.</p> + +<p>On the summit of the white hill a mile distant, +a red signal flag went up. A dark shape darted +up over the rise, glanced with incredible swiftness +down the incline, disappearing momentarily behind +the packed angle, then again shot into view +and sped past the grand-stand like a humming +projectile; the driver a fixed statue of concentration +on the road before him, the mechanician half-turned +in his seat to watch for cars behind.</p> + +<p>The place burst into uproar.</p> + +<p>"Number two! Number two first!"</p> + +<p>"Mercury leads!"</p> + +<p>Horns were blown, handkerchiefs waved, the +applause breaking out anew as a second car +rushed past in hot pursuit of the flying Mercury.</p> + +<p>"Three! Number three!"</p> + +<p>"Oh you Bluette!"</p> + +<p>"Here comes another—get back!"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p> + +<p>Flavia stooped from her seat.</p> + +<p>"Allan, that was Corrie—where is the car that +started before him?"</p> + +<p>"Tire trouble, perhaps. You are trembling, +dear! Let my chauffeur take you home and wait +quietly there until I bring Corrie to you after +the race."</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No, please no. Here I can see him each lap +and know he is safe so far. Let me stay."</p> + +<p>Two cars thundered past, struggling desperately +for place. The noise of the excited +people overwhelmed all conversation and left the +two lovers silent. From time to time a telephone +bell jingled across the tumult, blue-uniformed messengers +hurried here and there. But when the +last of twenty cars had passed, the twenty-first +not appearing, there fell a lull and men settled +back to wait for the second lap.</p> + +<p>Five minutes passed, ten. The red flags went +up again; two speeding shapes topped the rise +and plunged out of sight.</p> + +<p>"Two and three!"</p> + +<p>"The Bluette—no—Mercury leads still!"</p> + +<p>Excitement flared high as the two racers reappeared. +But as they swept down the straight +stretch, the mechanician of the Mercury raised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> +his arms above his head in warning, the car slackened +speed and drew to the side of the course. +As the Bluette machine fled past him, Corrie +brought his car to a halt opposite the judges' +stand, leaning toward the official who sprang to +his side.</p> + +<p>"The America's off the second bridge—send +the ambulance to the road below," he called, his +ringing voice penetrating bell-clear through the +heavier sounds.</p> + +<p>Before his grim message was fairly comprehended, +he had slammed into a gear and was off +to regain the sacrificed moment.</p> + +<p>There was a brief flurry in the official stand. +One man seized the telephone while another went +slowly to the lost car's camp. From lip to lip +the news went.</p> + +<p>"Harry was married last week," observed an +oil-smeared mechanic, touching his cap to Gerard +in going by. "I guess there's no show after that +tumble; Rose might as well have saved his time."</p> + +<p>"There is more than one prize in a contest," +Gerard disagreed, meeting Flavia's awed eyes. +"Corrie Rose may win better than a gold cup."</p> + +<p>"Corrie——?" she faltered.</p> + +<p>"Corrie has given his leading place and one +of his hoarded fragments of time—these races are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> +won or lost by scant minutes—for the bare chance +that his report might send aid to the injured men +a little sooner than if that task were left to the +frightened witnesses of the disaster."</p> + +<p>Flavia's small head lifted proudly, bright color +flashed into the countenance whose loving faith +had never failed Corrie in his hours of disgrace.</p> + +<p>"I wish papa had seen," she longed wistfully. +And after a moment: "You yourself have done +the same; he told me so, once. Now you have +taught him to do what you never can do any more, +poor Allan."</p> + +<p>A curious expression crossed Gerard's mobile +face; hesitation and doubt blended with a luminous +radiance shining from some inward thought that +leaped up like a clear flame. He moved as if to +speak impulsively, but Flavia had turned to watch +the approach of a rushing car, and he remained +silent.</p> + +<p>In the next hour, the Mercury passed the grand-stand +five times; sometimes alone, sometimes the +quarry of a coursing group of speed-hounds whose +flaming breath was close behind, sometimes itself +curving around some slower rival amid the wave-like +succession of cheers. The bulletin-board +showed Corrie running in third place when he +passed for the sixth time, with Rupert stretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> +along the edge of the car to relieve his cramped +limbs in an ease that suggested imminent death by +falling.</p> + +<p>The seventh time the Mercury did not come +around. Gerard, who had been in front, returned +to Flavia with his steadying reassurance.</p> + +<p>"Tire trouble, no doubt," he told her. "He +is due to have some; his luck has been astonishing +in escaping it so far. He is driving to win; +no car ever held the lead from start to finish."</p> + +<p>Flavia folded her hands in her lap, not trusting +herself far enough to reply. Gerard studied his +watch in silent calculation, as the minutes ticked +past.</p> + +<p>"It must have been two tires," he at last +hazarded. "When one blows out while actually +on a turn, the other is almost certain to follow. +Of course, they might have engine trouble."</p> + +<p>A French car rolled up to its repair pit, +stopped, and suddenly burst into flames. There +was a wild scramble among its force of attendants, +a rush with fire extinguishers and pails of sand. +Before the danger was realized, it had ended and +the mechanics were at work upon the choked pipe +which had sent the car to its camp.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" gasped the young girl, rising.</p> + +<p>Gerard stopped her, pointing to the white hill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> +The roar of an approaching car filled the air; +as Flavia looked, the Mercury shot past, running +faultlessly, but carrying two spare tires where she +had started with four.</p> + +<p>"They will be in, next lap," Gerard predicted. +"Rupert won't want to run with only two extra +tires on board, and I don't think Corrie will overrule +him."</p> + +<p>He went forward to give some directions to +prepare for the flying visit, Flavia watching. She +made no demand for attention, no betrayal of +feminine timidity to hamper this man's world into +which she had been brought. Men looked curiously +at the delicate, serious girl who sat so quietly +in the Mercury camp, but gradually the information +crept out that she was Rose's sister and +Gerard's fiancée, so that wonder became merely +admiration.</p> + +<p>True to expectation, the Mercury halted before +her repair pit, on the next circuit.</p> + +<p>"Cases," commanded Rupert, tersely, out of +his seat before the stop. "Move quick! Who's +nailed fast now?"</p> + +<p>The slur was undeserved; the waiting tires were +flung on and secured by hurrying hands.</p> + +<p>"Drink it," Gerard ordered, thrusting a cup +at Corrie, as that young driver leaned wearily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> +back. "I don't care whether you want it or +not."</p> + +<p>"It's the people," Corrie explained, his blue +eyes seeking Gerard's across the goggles. "I +don't mind anything else. They're over the course +so you can't see ahead. Jim hit a woman, on the +back stretch, as we passed."</p> + +<p>He put the heavy china cup to his lips, but +dropped it with a crash to seize his levers as +Rupert bounded in beside him.</p> + +<p>"Have the people cleared off," he petitioned +over his shoulder, while sending his car forward.</p> + +<p>Gerard went to the judges' stand.</p> + +<p>Corrie Rose was not the first or only driver to +complain of the packed course. The Mercury had +scarcely departed when the Marathon car came +in, its experienced and steel-fibred pilot on the +brink of nervous breakdown.</p> + +<p>"I won't drive if the mob isn't put off the +road," he defied his manager. "I've killed a +woman back there—do you hear? A <i>woman</i>! +There are women and kids right against the +wheels on the worst turns. Get 'em off!"</p> + +<p>The Marathon force flocked around him in consternation, +while his manager ran to the judges +and the owner of the car implored and adjured +the recalcitrant driver to go on without further<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> +loss of time. But it was Gerard who saved the +situation for his rival.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Jim," he called across, issuing +from the official stand and comprehending the +deadlock at sight. "You only broke her leg—a +telephone report came. Go on; everyone's with +you, man!"</p> + +<p>The Marathon's mechanician, wise in knowledge +of his pilot, at this juncture leaned over and thrust +between Jim's lips a lighted cigar.</p> + +<p>"Buck up! We're losin'," he urged roughly.</p> + +<p>The driver's teeth sullenly clamped shut upon +the strong tobacco; he slammed viciously into a +gear and hurled his machine down the course +before the startled camp realized its victory. The +stop had lasted exactly three minutes, but it cost +the Marathon its hope of the race.</p> + +<p>The morning advanced, gaining in sun-gilt +beauty. In the next hour four racers were taken +from the contest, three by mechanical difficulties, +one as the result of an accident that sent both +driver and mechanician to the hospital. The +Mercury continued to run steadily and evenly, +keeping a consistent pace.</p> + +<p>"How much longer?" Flavia anxiously questioned, +once. "Do you think everything can stay +right to the very end, Allan?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gerard laid his warm left hand over her cold +one, as it rested on the cushions, his loving eyes +caressing her.</p> + +<p>"Two hours more, my Flavia. Most surely I +believe everything can stay right; why not? Remember +Corrie delights in this. He is happier now +than when he is what we call at rest. If," again +that singular expression of blended shadow and +inward illumination rose over his face, "if I were +to be made myself and wholly cured, it would not +change Corrie's position in Corrie's eyes. I cannot +help him there in that hard part, but I have +given him a way to forget for a while."</p> + +<p>Her soft mouth bent grievedly; Flavia's attention +was effectually distracted from contemplation +of her brother's bodily peril.</p> + +<p>Gerard turned aside. He had heard the reports +arrive of one accident after another, he saw driver +after driver come in gray-lipped and savage under +the strain of racing on the crowded path, and he +knew what Flavia did not—that this was proving +the most disastrous affair ever held on the Cup +course.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind risking my own neck, I'm used +to that," gritted an old-time comrade to Gerard, +during a pause for refilling tanks. "It's the +people under foot; —— them! Haven't they any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> +sense? Jim's Marathon hit a man, ten minutes +ago; he's still driving, half crazy, because he +can't stop. <i>Damn</i> the country police!"</p> + +<p>"Rose——?"</p> + +<p>"Rose is changing tires at the Westbury turn. +I'm off."</p> + +<p>That bit of news spared a bad quarter-hour to +the two who loved Corrie.</p> + +<p>Gerard was at the front of the camp, watching +for his car, when he felt a hand lain on his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Some racer just went off the turnpike into +the ditch," Mr. Rose's subdued tones informed +him. "Where's Corrie?"</p> + +<p>"Safe; changing tires on this side of the turnpike," +Gerard gave quick assurance. "It's not +he. But this has been a bad day; I'm not surprised +that you couldn't keep away from here."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't keep away," Mr. Rose assented +heavily. He drew out his handkerchief and passed +it across his forehead, damp under the line of +reddish-gray hair, pushing open his overcoat with +the abrupt gesture that was also a habit of his +son's. "I've had a hell of an hour where I was, +Gerard. This morning I got a letter from my +niece, Isabel. It seems she is married and her +husband made her write it."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span></p> + +<p>The two men looked fully at each other; some +quality in Thomas Rose's expression communicated +its white reflection to Gerard's changing face.</p> + +<p>"He never did it—Corrie, I mean. Gerard, +Isabel Rose threw the wrench that struck you and +wrecked your car, last year. He's been shielding +her. God, how I've ground it into the boy!"</p> + +<p>There was a tall pile of spare tires beside them; +on it Gerard put his hand, steadying himself +against the shock that was less of surprise than +of poignant self-reproach for his own failure to +divine this open riddle. In that moment of final +understanding, he knew that he had seen the pitiful +truth rise to the surface of Corrie's blue eyes a +hundred times, and had left its appeal to die out, +unanswered.</p> + +<p>Far down the course a ripple of cheering started, +running nearer in a wave of gathering volume. +Out around the curve swooped a gray streak, fled +toward the camps, was opposite, and past. The +Mercury was unleashed and hunting down its lost +lead in the fastest speed of the day.</p> + +<p>Mr. Rose brought his eyes from following its +flight to meet Gerard's gaze.</p> + +<p>"You remember how Isabel nagged him to take +her around the race course in his pink machine," +he reminded. "I forbade it and thought no more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> +about the thing. Well, she got him alone—you +know, I guess, that he was wild with boy's near-love +for her and would have let her drag the +heart out of his body—and she got his promise to +take her around once. She worked the plan all +out; Corrie started without his mechanician, and +she waited for him a mile down the course, dressed +in her riding-habit and wearing a man's cap and +motor-mask. She figured that no one would notice +her much on the road and Corrie could drop her +off after making the circuit, just before he reached +the camps, so that he would come in alone as he +started and no one would be the wiser. They were +just a couple of fool kids on a kid lark."</p> + +<p>A yellow car roared to a stop beside them, +interrupting clamorously. From his seat its +mechanician fell rather than stepped.</p> + +<p>"He smashed his wrist cranking her," the +driver raged. "Someone else—quick!"</p> + +<p>A blue-clad factory mechanic flung himself into +the vacant place, bare-headed, without coat or +mask.</p> + +<p>"Here's my chance!" he exulted. "Go on, +I'm it."</p> + +<p>The car leaped out, no second wasted in parley. +Men gathered up the injured mechanician and +hurried him away. Mr. Rose looked on as if at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> +a stage scene which did not interest him, and dully +resumed his narrative.</p> + +<p>"It worked all right, Gerard, until they met +you on the back stretch and you challenged Corrie +to race. He didn't want to, with her along, +but she devilled him to go on, and he did. I can +guess it went to his head, having her beside him. +When you began cutting Corrie off so he couldn't +pass by, he caught the joke right enough. She +says he was laughing when he began to pitch odd +screws and bolts at your car—he was never angry +for a moment, just playing, as you were. But +she was all excited over losing; when she saw he +had both hands busy and you were forcing them +back again, she snatched something out of the open +box Corrie had got the bolts from and threw it +at you, herself. She didn't know what she had +thrown or done, until she saw you fall stunned +across your steering-wheel and your car plunge +off the road."</p> + +<p>"I might have known," said Gerard, and turned +his face to the course he did not see.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> might have known!" flared Mr. Rose. +"What was the matter with <i>me</i>? Hadn't I lived +with Corwin B. Rose since he was born and never +had seen him cheat or play foul, win or lose? +He was straight, always. I should have known<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> +when he wouldn't talk—he never was afraid to +speak out and take his licking. Oh yes, I belong +to the brutal common people and Corrie wasn't +brought up by moral suasion; he had more +than one flogging before he was fourteen and we +called him a man. And he never lied to dodge one. +I went back on him; he never did on me."</p> + +<p>The gay tumult of the tensely-strung multitude +was in their ears, the band-music crashed blatant +aid to the excitement. With a humming purr and +rush the Mercury car shot past again, followed by +the long roll of applause.</p> + +<p>"We're leading by a minute and a half," one of +Gerard's men triumphed, running past on some +errand. "Oh you Rosie!"</p> + +<p>"He stopped his machine as soon as he could, +and put Isabel out," Mr. Rose continued sombrely. +"She says herself that she was scared sick and +begged him to save her. I can guess that part. +Anyhow, he told her to go home and say nothing, +that he would take care of her. He did. If it +hadn't been for your protecting him, that morning, +he might have ended in State's prison. I +don't suppose she would ever have cleared him if +she hadn't fallen in love with one of those Southerners +she has been visiting, and blurted out the +truth when he proposed, the other day. He put<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> +her in a buggy, drove over to the nearest clergyman, +and married her then and there; then gave +her paper and pen and made her write the whole +story to me. He is a gentleman; he'd stand with +her for whatever she had done, but he would not +stand for her leaving Corrie to bear her blame. +I'll make it up to him, yet!"</p> + +<p>"Does Flavia know?" Gerard asked.</p> + +<p>"I gave her Isabel's letter on the way across +to you."</p> + +<p>Flavia was sitting in the car with her wet handkerchief +clasped in her folded hands, her veils +drawn across the hushed beauty of her face. As +Gerard came up, she bent to him.</p> + +<p>"Corrie," she breathed. "Corrie, to do this! +I am proud and glad and humbled. How could +he, how could he?"</p> + +<p>"He has more courage than I," Gerard gravely +acknowledged. "I could not have done it. A +superb folly, unjust to himself and us. He might +safely have confided in his father or me and have +trusted Isabel to our care."</p> + +<p>"Allan, she had his promise to tell no one and +she held him to it. She was ill and hysterical with +terrified shame; Isabel never could endure to be +found at fault even in little things. She was not +bad or wicked, but just a coward."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She found strength enough to watch Corrie +under torture week after week," he retorted, his +golden-brown eyes hardening to agate. "If I had +been killed under my car, Flavia, do you realize +that Rupert would have brought your brother +face to face with the electric chair? And Corrie +would have shut his lips and endured it all. Don't +ask me to pity Isabel Rose—I've lived this year +with her victim."</p> + +<p>Trembling under the control forced on herself, +Flavia slipped her hand into his.</p> + +<p>"I know, Allan, I know. Yet she did suffer to +see his suffering. In her letter, she says that +Corrie came to her at dawn, the last morning +we were all at home, and called her out into the +empty hall to beseech her for permission to tell +you. He had not been to bed that night, at all. +She never afterward forgot his desperate, worn +face and that memory finally drove her to confession. +But she refused him. He did break +down then, and flashed out at her that he must +and would tell you the truth, when he left her. +Of course he did not do so. Allan, she declares +that he then told you, that she knows it because +you wrote to her that evening about your accident +and said you would take care of Corrie whatever +happened."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I!"</p> + +<p>"Your letter to me. She had been insane with +dread all day, believing Corrie would fulfil his +threat to tell you his innocence, and when Rupert +came she saw only that idea confirmed. She knew +of no relations between you and me. She thought +only of herself."</p> + +<p>Gerard looked at her, having no words; presently +he sat down on the edge of the car at her +feet, and they continued silent, hand in hand. +Mr. Rose had found a camp-chair in the shadow +of a wall, and sat watching the race in grim +quiescence.</p> + +<p>When the last hour of the contest was reached, +it was noted that the Mercury car had suddenly +slackened its pace. The difference in speed was +not great; the car was running faultlessly, but +keeping a slower gait. The men in the Mercury +camp clustered together, waiting and discussing.</p> + +<p>The car came around on the next lap with the +condition hardly improved. Rupert was neither +watching behind nor busied with his usual duties, +but sat erect in his seat with one arm around +Corrie's shoulders, apparently talking in the +driver's ear, head bent to head. Neither glanced +toward the row of repair pits or the grand-stand, +as they passed between and on out of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> +view. Gerard's brows contracted sharply; he +uttered an excuse to Flavia and went front.</p> + +<p>"Morton's giving out, too," the manager of +the next camp imparted confidentially, joining him. +"The road-bed is rotten, the men say. Ten feet +of it caved in at one turn. Too bad!"</p> + +<p>"Rose had no sleep last night," Gerard briefly +excused his driver.</p> + +<p>"God, how I've ground it into the boy," Corrie's +father had said; and Gerard could have echoed +the cry, looking back at what he had meant for +kindness.</p> + +<p>The moments dragged, the next scant quarter-hour +stretched long. But at last the Mercury's +vibrant voice rolled down the white road, approaching. +Up to her camp the car sped, and stopped.</p> + +<p>Before the halt was effected, Rupert had +snatched off the driver's suffocating mask, leaning +over him.</p> + +<p>"Oil, gas," he demanded generally. "Jump +for those tanks, <i>quick</i>. Here, Rose——"</p> + +<p>His white, fatigue-drawn face bared to the fresh +wind, Corrie tried to speak, but instead let his +head fall forward on his arm as it rested upon the +steering-wheel.</p> + +<p>"Rose, you low-down quitter, you punk chauffeuse!" +Rupert stormed at him. "You going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> +to chuck up a won race? You mollycoddle——Water, +you fellows—can't you even wait on a +real man? Here, Rose, you ain't anything but a +fake!"</p> + +<p>He carefully splashed the water over the boyish +forehead, streaks of grime trickling over them +both.</p> + +<p>"Fill the tanks," Corrie gasped, lying passive +under the rough treatment. "I'm ready to go +on—tell me when."</p> + +<p>Gerard was beside the car.</p> + +<p>"Corrie," he began.</p> + +<p>Rupert unexpectedly flamed out at him across +the prostrate figure:</p> + +<p>"Let him alone! He ain't a Sandow and the +driving's hell. He's going on, I tell you. Here, +Rose, get some class into you, what?"</p> + +<p>But Gerard had a better tonic than cold water +or stinging abuse. He silenced the mechanician +with a glance and laid his hand on Corrie's arm.</p> + +<p>"Corrie, your cousin has told us the truth," he +said. "We know, now, who caused the wreck of +my car last year."</p> + +<p>Corrie started so violently as to overturn the +jug in Rupert's hand and send its contents over +them both, his avid blue eyes flashed wide to +Gerard.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Isabel——?"</p> + +<p>"Isabel has told us that your companion threw +the wrench that struck me, and why you bore the +charge. You stand cleared."</p> + +<p>Corrie slowly drew himself erect in his seat, +brushing the water from his eyes and pushing +back his wet clusters of fair hair. It was not so +much color as vital life that flowed into his face, +mechanically he reached for his mask.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," he answered. "I can drive, now."</p> + +<p>"Tanks full," shouted a score of voices.</p> + +<p>Men scattered from around the car's wheels in +expectation of the start, Gerard stepped back. +But Corrie turned in his seat and held out his +hand to the speechless Rupert.</p> + +<p>"You heard—now do it," he required.</p> + +<p>Still dumb, the mechanician dragged off his +glove and gave for the race's finish the hand-clasp +that he had denied for its start.</p> + +<p>The Mercury sprang from her camp with a +roar of unloosed power and speed-lust. Car and +driver splendid mates, they fled in pulsating vigor +down their white path where the sun was shining.</p> + +<p>During the rest of the hour, people stood up +in seats and automobiles, watching the Mercury +Titan. Not before had they witnessed driving +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> +like that, never again could the driver himself +equal that inspired flight.</p> + +<p>Just sixty-nine seconds ahead of his nearest +rival, Corrie Rose brought his car across the line. +As he halted the Mercury before the judges, the +people burst out over the course and overwhelmed +the victors. Music, clicking cameras, cheers and +congratulations—the current of gayety swirled +around the winning racer. The first to grasp +Corrie's hand was the official starter who had sent +him out six hours before, the second was the driver +of the barely-defeated Marathon. After that, +there was no record possible.</p> + +<p>It was some time before Corrie and Rupert +could be rescued from the enthusiastic press of +admirers. When at last the Mercury came over +to its own camp, Gerard was first able to bring +Flavia to her brother.</p> + +<p>Stiff, weary and dishevelled, Corrie descended +from his car, tripping impatiently over the +flowers someone had placed in it. There was a +perfunctory quality in the tenderness with which +he kissed Flavia, as there had been a restive haste +in his acceptance of his present ovation. Now, he +turned his candid eyes full to Gerard's, baring his +inmost need to the one who always understood.</p> + +<p>"I want my father," said Corrie Rose.</p> + +<div class="figtag"> + <a id="image_001"></a> +</div> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" alt="Celebrating Victory" +title="THE PEOPLE BURST OUT OVER THE COURSE AND OVERWHELMED THE VICTORS" /> +<p class="caption">THE PEOPLE BURST OUT OVER THE COURSE AND OVERWHELMED THE VICTORS</p> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p> + +<p>Very lovingly Gerard put his arm around the +slim shoulders and drew his master-driver to a +tent behind the repair pit, there left him to enter +alone and went back to Flavia.</p> + +<p>"I put twelve ham sandwiches and my will in +the locker, there," he found Rupert sweetly explaining +to the young girl. "I guessed I'd have +use for one or the other by this time. And I +guess I guessed right. Oh, no—I'll be able to +take my regular nourishment just the same, when +we get back; this won't count. I," he sent Gerard +a glance of saturnine intelligence, "I've got myself +all tired out here lately trying to keep on +disliking Rose."</p> + +<p>"Allan, have you thought that we are going +home?" Flavia asked, lifting her happy face to +her lover, as he stood over her. "<i>Home</i>; papa +and Corrie, and you and I, who were so far +apart."</p> + +<p>"I have thought that you would put on that +lace frock you wore the last evening I saw you +there, only this time you will come where I can +touch you. Shall I tell you what you looked like +that night? You were a golden rose in a sheath +of snow, quite out of reach. And you played your +dainty music so calmly and smoothly, while I was +on fire and seeing rose-color as I listened to your +father's stories. I was like poor Cyrano de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> +Bergerac: I had gazed so long at your sun-bright +little head that when I looked away my dazzled +eyes still saw gold."</p> + +<p>Her red mouth dimpled into soft mischief and +daring.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you what <i>I</i> saw while I was playing, +Allan? I watched you under my eyelashes—this way—and +I wondered whether anyone else +ever looked quite so nice even from behind, and, +and what it would be like to touch your crinkly +hair with one's finger."</p> + +<p>"Do it now!"</p> + +<p>She declined with an eloquent gesture. Around +their enclosure the vast crowds were streaming +back to New York, the course was filled from edge +to edge with a solid procession of homing automobiles +of every type and age. Amid noise and congestion +and merriment, Long Island's guests were +trouping out.</p> + +<p>But comparative quietness had descended upon +the row of pits when, half an hour later, Mr. Rose +and Corrie strolled casually up to join the other +two members of the party.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how long you propose to stay +here," observed the senior, tolerantly. "Lenoir +is waiting with the limousine, and it strikes us +it's about time to start for home."</p> + +<p>"Chilly wind blowing, too," Corrie suggested,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> +his hands in the pockets of his long gray motor-coat. +"Fancy Lenoir lugging this old coat of +mine around in the car, Other Fellow, until now. +It's a wonder the butterflies haven't eaten it—moths, +I mean."</p> + +<p>Gerard and Flavia exchanged a glance of infinitely +tender comprehension of these two.</p> + +<p>"I want to show you all something, first," +Gerard detained them. "We don't want to take +any worries home that we can leave here. Give +me that ball of tape you put in your pocket this +morning, Corrie."</p> + +<p>Astonished, Corrie obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Rupert!" Gerard sent his clear voice +across to where that black-eyed mechanician leaned +against the Mercury Titan, a hundred feet away. +"Catch!"</p> + +<p>Rupert promptly turned. The improvised ball +in his fingers, Gerard slowly raised both arms +above his head in the old graceful gesture, his +brilliant amber eyes smiling at his companions, +then launched the sphere straight to its goal.</p> + +<p>It was not Flavia who found overtaxed nerves +give way.</p> + +<p>"Gerard! <i>Gerard!</i>" Corrie's cry rang out; he +sank down on a camp-chair and covered his face.</p> + +<p>Alarmed and remorseful, Gerard sprang to him.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Corrie—don't take it like that! It is all +right; I've been fighting for this ten months +under a French surgeon's orders."</p> + +<p>"You never told me. Oh, Gerard, Gerard!"</p> + +<p>"I did not want to tell you until I was sure +the cure was real and permanent. And I was not +sure until I met the surgeon in New York, yesterday."</p> + +<p>"You could have told me last night. I might +have been killed to-day and <i>never</i> have known."</p> + +<p>Gerard exchanged with Mr. Rose a glance of +very sad understanding, a mutual acknowledgment +of mutual error.</p> + +<p>"Would you have driven the Mercury to-day +against your father's wish, if you had known that +I should be able to drive my own car next year? +I think not. If you were to be taken from me and +this life, I wanted you to take with you the +memory of this race instead of the humiliation of +a withdrawal. And I believed that I was dealing +with an unsteadied boy who needed the sharp tonic +of work and danger—ah, Corrie, forgive me!—instead +of the strongest man in endurance I ever +knew. But I would tell no one else until I did +you, although," he turned to the radiant girl, +"although it was hard not to hold out both hands +to Flavia."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> + +<p>She put her hands in both his, then, and felt +them close on hers for all time.</p> + +<p>"Rupert knew," Corrie presently divined, as +the unsurprised mechanician lounged toward them.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Rupert knew," Gerard confirmed. "He +helped me go through the treatment each day. +One reason I did not tell you what we were doing, +was that the process was not very pleasant, and it +used to leave me rather upset and sick for a while—you +caught me too soon after it that morning +you signed the contracts. Don't wince; <i>you</i> had +nothing to do with my smash."</p> + +<p>"But I blamed myself, always!" Corrie stood +up, thrusting his hands into his pockets and +squaring his shoulders with the sturdy responsibility +so easily read now. "I had no business +to take Isabel there, and I put the mischief into +her head by pitching bolts at you. She couldn't +tell it was in fun. I—I would rather have known +you'd get well, Gerard, than have known I was +cleared."</p> + +<p>"Didn't it ever occur to you, Corrie, to blame +<i>us</i>, when we were so ready to convict you and +pass judgment?" countered Gerard.</p> + +<p>Checked, Corrie surveyed the three with the +ingenuous astonishment of a new point of view.</p> + +<p>"Blame you people?" he marvelled. "Why,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> +when I thought what a low brute you had every +right to believe I was, I used to feel like thanking +you for staying in the same room with me. I—Well, +I guess it's time to go home, isn't it? I'll +leave you to start."</p> + +<p>"Leave us?" exclaimed Flavia.</p> + +<p>"You'll make a line for that limousine right +now, Corwin B.," pronounced Mr. Rose, with the +familiar easy mastery that was a caress.</p> + +<p>His son laughingly shook his fair head.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks, sir. I'm going to drive the +Mercury Titan home and put it in the garage. +Unless," he looked over his shoulder, "unless +Rupert is afraid to trust himself to ride with a +punk chauffeuse and a no-class fake?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't real nervous to-day," drawled the +mechanician graciously. "Nor I ain't supposing +but what you're entitled to a chauffeur's license, +Rose."</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>XVII</h2> +<h3>THE END OF THE ROAD</h3> + +<p>In the golden afternoon sunlight, when tree-shadows +stretched long and velvet-soft across the +lawns and terraces of Mr. Rose's park, amid all +October's blending fragrances and mellow tints, +Corrie Rose came home. After all, it was Jack +Rupert who put the Mercury Titan in the garage, +opposite the house Corrie; yielding his seat to +his mechanician.</p> + +<p>"I believe I'll let you take her around; I +want to go in with my people," the driver explained. +"You might as well get established +here, you know, since you are going to stay some +time. I," it was so long since anyone had seen +that teasing mischief sparkling in Corrie's unclouded +eyes, "I have grown so used to your +gentle, winning ways that I don't know how to +get along without you, Rupert."</p> + +<p>Rupert settled himself in the great machine, regarding +his companion with dry intelligence.</p> + +<p>"I've got more respect for your morals than I +had, Rose, and less for your sense," he issued +final judgment above the clamor of the motor, +before sending the car away.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Right again," Corrie agreed. He turned and +looked up at the house.</p> + +<p>The three from the limousine were waiting for +him upon the columned veranda. Weary, stiff +and aching from long exertion, soiled with the +dust of course and road, Corrie, victor of that +day and of many days, climbed the broad rose-colored +steps to them. There was nothing adequate +to say, had they been a demonstrative family; +as it was, no one considered speech. But at the +open door Corrie stopped, turning his bright, clear +glance to his father. And Thomas Rose closed +his hand on his son's shoulder, so that they crossed +the threshold together.</p> + +<p>Gerard detained Flavia a pace behind.</p> + +<p>"When I see you in the lace gown, I am going +to kiss you," he stated firmly. "I do not care +how many people are present or where it is. So +you had better come down early to the fountain +arcade, where I have pictured you more often than +you will ever know. Will you, flower-lady?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she doubted. "If I think of it."</p> + +<p>"Heartsease for thought," said Gerard, and +kissed her dimpling mouth.</p> + +<p>On the stairs a few minutes later, Corrie overtook +his sister and caught her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"I need a bath and some fresh rags and—well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> +everything," he laughed. "I'm not fit to touch—do +you mind?"</p> + +<p>She clasped her arms around his neck, nestling +her soft cheek against the rough, grimy cloth of +his driving-suit.</p> + +<p>"I love you! Oh, my dear, my dear, if mamma +had lived, this year could never have happened! +Not to you, nor to me."</p> + +<p>He looked into her upturned face, realizing +with her the difference that might have been +wrought by a mother's clairvoyant tenderness and +the link of a wife's understanding between her +husband and her children. No, without this lack +in the household the year's deception could not +have endured. If the chain of Roses had not +once been broken, it could not have come so near +this later destruction.</p> + +<p>"Flavia, you know I feel how good they have +all been to me? You know what nonsense it was +for Allan—he tells me I can't call my own brother +'Gerard'—what nonsense it was for him to suggest +that I ever could blame anyone but myself +for what I had to stand?"</p> + +<p>"I know you feel it so, Corrie."</p> + +<p>"Then, I want to say there was only you, Other +Fellow, who <i>never</i> hurt or made it harder."</p> + +<p>"Even—Allan?"</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think there never was a man so generous +as Allan—but, only you. I," he drew a breath of +inexpressible content, "I see a bully good life +ahead, but I don't see any woman in it, unless I +find one like you. And from what I overheard +Allan saying, just now when I passed you both +at the alcove, he's secured the only perfect angel-girl——"</p> + +<p>Laughing, warmly flushed, she put her hand +across his lips.</p> + +<p>But it was that evening, in the glowing richness +and repose of the dining-room in the pink marble +villa, now reinvested with the dignity of a home, +that the core of the late situation was touched.</p> + +<p>Once more Allan Gerard was intent upon the +study of Flavia's young beauty as she sat near him +in the lace gown, this time with his ring flaunting +conquest on her fragile hand. Mr. Rose was leaning +back and idly watching the ice dissolve in his +glass, when Corrie broke the pause, resting his +arms on the table and lifting his gay, mirthful +face to the man behind his chair:</p> + +<p>"Take away those oysters, Perkins! I want my +soup right off, and a lot of it. I'm about +starved——" He stopped, himself struck by the +words.</p> + +<p>The evoked recollections of that last dinner to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>gether +were too much. Mr. Rose carefully put the +glass down, his strong jaw setting. Flavia's large +startled eyes flashed wet as they went to her +brother.</p> + +<p>"Corrie, Corrie, I can understand how you +began," escaped Gerard impulsively. "But how +could you carry it on month after month?"</p> + +<p>The ruddy color ran up to Corrie's forehead, +he looked down at the table, sobered.</p> + +<p>"It didn't take me long to see I made an awful +bungle of things," he confessed, half-shy and +hesitant. "And it got worse and worse as I saw +what I had done to you people. Yet I'd given +my word. I guess you'll understand a lot more +than I can say; as Allan will understand, now, +why I couldn't help knocking down that tramp who +wanted money because I belonged in prison and +wasn't there. It was all too much for me to +think out! But—isn't there something said about +a fellow who puts his hand to the plough not +taking it off? I used to say that over to myself, +when—well, at night, for instance. I might have +been a chump, but it seemed up to me to keep on +with the work I had started, and—and not to +flinch."</p> + +<p>"Dear, if you had only spared yourself what +you could," Flavia grieved. "You could have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> +said it was an accident, at least; that you never +meant to hurt Allan."</p> + +<p>Corrie's violet-blue eyes laughed out of their +eclipse and sought his father.</p> + +<p>"Not much, Other Fellow! No tricks for mine; +I had to tell just the truth or shut up. No, sir, +whatever he <i>looked</i> like, Corrie Rose had to plough +a straight furrow."</p> + +<p>"Straight furrows lead home," said Allan +Gerard, not sententiously, but musingly.</p> + +<p>He also looked toward Mr. Rose, and the senior +nodded slow agreement.</p> + +<p>"They do, Gerard. And we get more, sometimes, +than we've any right to expect from anything +we give. Where we spent this summer, +Flavia and I liked the people. What we did for +them didn't cost us much; we were not looking +for any returns. But the news of it got out, somehow, +and was cabled to New York days before +we arrived here. One of the journals got the +story and worked up a Sunday article about what +an American millionaire had done for Val de Rosas, +and interviewed a certain Luis Cárdenas and his +wife, Elvira, whom Flavia had brought together—it +seems they are happy and prospering well, my +girl—and printed the whole thing along with a +photograph of Corrie in his racing clothes, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> +my son. New York papers go everywhere. The +Southerner whom Isabel was in love with brought +that article about her family to her, as an excuse +for an early call, the morning he asked her to +marry him. She says, herself, it was the picture +of Corrie in the motor dress she last had seen him +wear on the day of the accident, that broke her +up so, and when her lover proposed she told him +the whole truth. If I hadn't paid the taxes for +Val de Rosas, Corrie would have been bearing a +false charge yet."</p> + +<p>The silence held many thoughts; a silence broken +by Corrie himself.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow we'll write a jolly note to Isabel," +he affirmed contentedly. "She doesn't need to +worry on her honeymoon, poor kid; she has +squared up. There doesn't seem to be any need +for anyone to worry, ever, while they're trying to +keep straight, since the scheme is a Square Deal, +you know."</p> + +<p>The two older men exchanged a glance.</p> + +<p>"I guess some of us need more than a square +deal, Corwin B.," his father pronounced. "But +it's all right; we get that, too."</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap" style="font-size: larger">The End.</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="adheadline">MYSTERY AND ACTION A'PLENTY</p> + +<h1>IN HER OWN RIGHT</h1> + +<p class="center">By JOHN REED SCOTT</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of "The Impostor," "The Colonel of the Red Huzzars," +"The Woman in Question," "The Princess Dehra," etc.</i></p> + +<p class="advert">Three colored illustrations<br /> +By CLARENCE F. UNDERWOOD<br /> +12 mo. Decorated Cloth, $1.25 net.</p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">In</span> this new novel Mr. Scott returns to modern +times, where he is as much at home as when writing +of imaginary kingdoms or the days of powder and +patches. Mr. Scott's last novel, "The Impostor," +had Annapolis in 1776 as its <i>locale</i>, but he shows his +versatility by centering the important events of this +romance in and around Annapolis of today.</p> + +<p>There are mystery and action a-plenty, and a +charming love interest adds greatly to an already +brilliant and exciting narrative.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>CRITICAL OPINIONS</i></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"A brisk and cleanly tale."—<i>Smart Set.</i></p> + +<p>"A sparkling, appealing novel of today."—<i>Portland Oregonian.</i></p> + +<p>"Enjoys the exceptional merit of being a stirring treasure tale +kept within the bounds of likelihood."—<i>San Francisco Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>"A charming and captivating romance filled with action from +the opening to the close, so fascinating is the story wrought."—<i>Pittsburgh +Post.</i></p> + +<p>"Just such a dashing tale of love and adventure as habitual +fiction readers have learned to expect from Mr. Scott. A well +told tale with relieving touches of dry humor and a climax unusual +and strong."—<i>Chicago Record Herald.</i></p> +</div> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="adheadline">By GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ</p> + +<h2>Dawn of the Morning</h2> + +<p class="advert"> +Illustrated in color by ANNA WHELAN BETTS.<br /> +Decorated cloth. 12mo. $1.25 net. +</p> + +<p>Like her most successful stories, "Marcia Schuyler" and +"Phoebe Deane," Mrs. Lutz's new novel is set in New York State +about 1826—quaint old days of poke bonnets and full skirts.</p> + +<p>It is a refreshingly sweet and charming story and the author +has created in Dawn, a gentle appealing heroine, whose tangled +romance only serves to make more happy the beautiful ending when +all the threads of Dawn's life are straightened out.</p> + +<h2>Phoebe Deane</h2> + +<p class="advert"> +Frontispiece in color and five illustrations from paintings by +E.L. HENRY, N.A. 12mo. Cloth, with medallion, $1.50. +</p> + +<p>Few present-day books are so thoroughly wholesome, fresh and +charming as this quiet, old-fashioned romance, as refreshingly +sweet as the name of its heroine.</p> + +<p>Phoebe Deane, a motherless girl, meets the trials of a life of +dependence, and an unwelcome suitor, with a brave, sweet spirit. +In spite of deceit and treachery, her lover at last comes to her +rescue, and her happiness is assured.</p> + +<h2>Marcia Schuyler</h2> + +<p class="advert"> +Frontispiece in color by ANNA WHELAN BETTS, and six illustrations +from paintings by E.L. HENRY, N.A. Fifth edition. 12mo. +Cloth, with medallion, $1.50. +</p> + +<p>The story opens upon the wedding preparations for the marriage +of winsome, wilful Kate to strong and good David. Complications +arise by which David marries her younger sister Marcia +instead and it is only after a period of trials and heartaches that +Marcia wins her husband's love when he comes to understand her +worthiness and Kate's heartless frivolity and duplicity. The <i>Chicago +Tribune</i> pronounces Marcia "One of the most lovable heroines that +ever lived her life in the pages of a romance."</p> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center u"><i>A NOVEL OF THE REAL WEST</i></p> + +<h1>ME—SMITH</h1> + +<p class="center">By CAROLINE LOCKHART<br /> +With five illustrations by Gayle Hoskins</p> + +<p class="advert">12mo. Cloth, $1.20 net.</p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Miss Lockhart</span> is a true daughter of the West, +her father being a large ranch-owner and she has +had much experience in the saddle and among the people +who figure in her novel.</p> + +<p>"Smith" is one type of Western +"Bad Man," an unusually powerful and appealing character +who grips and holds the reader through all his +deeds, whether good or bad.</p> + +<p>It is a story with red +blood in it. There is the cry of the coyote, the deadly +thirst for revenge as it exists in the wronged Indian toward +the white man, the thrill of the gaming table, and +the gentleness of pure, true love. To the very end the +tense dramatism of the tale is maintained without relaxation.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Gripping, vigorous story."—<i>Chicago Record-Herald.</i></p> + +<p>"This is a real novel, a big novel."—<i>Indianapolis News.</i></p> + +<p>"Not since the publication of 'The Virginian' has so powerful a +cowboy story been told."—<i>Philadelphia Public Ledger.</i></p> + +<p>"A remarkable book in its strength of portrayal and its directness +of development. It cannot be read without being remembered."—<i>The +World To-Day.</i></p> +</div> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="adheadline">By ELIZABETH DEJEANS</p> + +<h2>The Winning Chance</h2> + +<p class="advert"><i>Frontispiece in color by Gayle P. Hoskins.<br /> +12mo. Ornamental cloth, $1.50.</i></p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">We</span> have no hesitancy in pronouncing this powerful story +one of the most impressive studies of our highly nervous +American life that has been published in a long while. +It is written with enormous vitality and emotional energy. The +grip it takes on one intensifies as the story proceeds.</p> + +<h2>The Heart of Desire</h2> + +<p class="advert"><i>Illustrations in colors by The Kinneys.<br /> +12mo. Ornamental cloth, $1.50.</i></p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">A remarkable</span> novel, full of vital force, which gives us +a glimpse into the innermost sanctuary of a woman's soul—a +revelation of the truth that to a woman there may be +a greater thing than the love of a man—the story pictured +against a wonderful Southern California background.</p> + +<h2>The Far Triumph</h2> + +<p class="advert"><i>Illustrated in color by Martin Justice.<br /> +12mo. Ornamental cloth, $1.25 net.</i></p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Here</span> is a romance, strong and appealing, one which will +please all classes of readers. From the opening of the +story until the last word of the last chapter Mrs. Dejeans' +great novel of modern American life will hold the reader's unflagging +interest. Living, breathing people move before us, +and the author touches on some phases of society of momentous +interest to women—and to men.</p> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="adheadline">By WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT</p> + +<h2>She Buildeth Her House</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: larger">"The Strongest American Novel"<br /> +<i>Chicago Journal.</i></p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Seldom</span> has the author of a first great novel so brilliantly +transcended his initial success. A man and a woman inspiringly +fitted for each other sweep into the zone of mutual +attraction at the opening of the story. Destiny demands that +each overcomes certain formidable destructible forces before +either is tempered and refined for the glorious Union of Two to +form One.</p> + +<p class="advert"> +With colored frontispiece, by Martin Justice.<br /> +Decorated cloth, net $1.25</p> + +<h2>Routledge Rides Alone</h2> + +<p style="font-size: larger">"A gripping story. The terrible intensity +of the writer holds one chained to +the book."—<i>Chicago Tribune.</i></p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Mr.</span> Comfort has drawn upon two practically new story +places in the world of fiction to furnish the scenes for his +narrative—India and Manchuria at the time of the Russo-Japanese +War. While the novel is distinguished by its clear and +vigorous war scenes, the fine and sweet romance of the love of +the hero, Routledge—a brave, strange, and talented American—for +the "most beautiful woman in London" rivals these in +interest.</p> + +<p class="advert"> +With colored frontispiece by Martin Justice.<br /> +12mo. Cloth, with inlay in color $1.50. +</p> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<h1 style="font-size: 300%">PHRYNETTE</h1> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: larger">BY<br /> +MARTHE TROLY-CURTIN</p> + +<p class="advert"> +<i>With a frontispiece by FRANK DESCH<br /> +12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.25 net</i></p> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Phrynette</span> is seventeen, extremely clever and +naive, and attractive in every way. The death +of her French father in Paris leaves her an orphan, +and she goes to London to live with an aunt of Scotch +descent. Her impressions of the people, the happenings +and the places she becomes familiar with, peculiarities +of customs and every little thing of interest are +all touched upon in a charming and original manner, +while in places there is irresistible humor. Throughout +there is a good solid love story, and the ending is +all that is to be desired.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"A very charming novel."—<i>San Francisco Argonaut.</i></p> + +<p>"Original, clever and extremely well-written."—<i>Pittsburgh Dispatch.</i></p> + +<p>"Refreshingly original and full of wholesome mirth. To say that the book is +delightful reading is understating the fact."—<i>Philadelphia Public Ledger.</i></p> +</div> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="adheadline">ROMANCES by DAVID POTTER</p> + +<h2>The Lady of the Spur</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> scenes of this delightful romance are set in the south-western +part of New Jersey, during the years 1820-30. +An unusual situation develops when Tom Bell, a quondam +gentleman highwayman, returns to take up the offices of the +long-lost heir, Henry Morvan. Troubles thicken about him and +along with them the romance develops. Through it all rides +"The Lady of the Spur" with a briskness, charm, and mystery +about her that give an unusual zest to the book from its very +first page.</p> + +<p class="advert"> +Third edition. Colored frontispiece by Clarence F. Underwood. +12mo. Cloth, $1.50.</p> + +<h2>I Fasten a Bracelet</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Why</span> should a young well-bred girl be under a vow of +obedience to a man after she had broken her engagement +to him? This is the mysterious situation that is presented +in this big breezy out-of-doors romance. When Craig Schuyler, +after several years' absence, returns home, and without any +apparent reason fastens on Nell Sutphen an iron bracelet. A sequence +of thrilling events is started which grip the imagination +powerfully, and seems to "get under the skin." There is a vein +of humor throughout, which relieves the story of grimness.</p> + +<p class="advert"> +Frontispiece in color by Martin Justice.<br /> +12mo. Decorated cloth, $1.25 net.</p> + +<h2>An Accidental Honeymoon</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">A sparkling</span> and breezy romance of modern times, the +scenes laid in Maryland. The plot is refreshingly novel +and delightfully handled. The heroine is one of the +"fetchingest" little persons in the realms of fiction. The other +characters are also excellently drawn, each standing out clear and +distinct, even the minor ones. The dialogue of the story is remarkably +good, and through it all runs a vein of delightful humor.</p> + +<p class="advert"> +Eight illustrations in color by George W. Gage.<br /> +Marginal decorations on each page.<br /> +12mo. Ornamental cloth, $1.35 net.</p> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="adheadline">By CAROLYN WELLS</p> + +<h2 style="font-size: 300%">THE GOLD BAG</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"The</span> Gold Bag" is so unlike the usual products of Miss +Wells' pen that one wonders if she possesses a dual personality +or is it merely extraordinary versatility, for she +can certainly write detective stories just as well as she can write +nonsense verse. The story is told in the first person by a modest +young sleuth who is sent to a suburban place to ferret out +the mystery which shrouds the murder of a prominent man. +Circumstantial evidence in the shape of a gold mesh bag points +to a woman as the criminal, and the only possible one is the dead +man's niece with whom the detective promptly falls in love, +though she is already engaged to her uncle's secretary, an +alliance which the dead man insisted must be discontinued, otherwise +he would disinherit the girl. The story is well told and the +interest is cleverly aroused and sustained.</p> + +<p class="advert">Second edition. With a colored frontispiece. 12 mo. +Decorated cloth, $1.20 net. +</p> + +<h2 style="font-size: 300%">THE CLUE</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">This</span> is a detective story, and no better or more absorbing +one has appeared in a long time. The book opens with the +violent death of a young heiress—apparently a suicide. +But a shrewd young physician waxes suspicious, and finally convinces +the wooden-headed coroner that the girl has been murdered. +The finger of suspicion points at various people in turn, +but each of them proves his innocence. Finally Fleming Stone, +the detective who figured in a previous detective story by this +author, is called in to match his wits against those of a particularly +astute villain. Needless to say that in the end right +triumphs.</p> + +<p class="advert">With a colored frontispiece. 12 mo. +Decorated cloth, $1.50.</p> + +<p class="ralign lippincott"> +<span class="lalign">J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY</span> +PUBLISHERS<br />PHILADELPHIA</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="trnote"> +<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b></p> + +<p> +The frontispiece was moved to the relevant location (<a href="#image_001">Page 293</a>).<br /> +<br /> +Hyphenation has been made consistent.<br /> +<br /> +Quotation marks were added or removed to standardize usage.<br /> +<br /> +Spelling was changed on possible typographical errors +(crysanthemum, boquet, Pittsburg, circumstancial, and villian.) +</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FROM THE CAR BEHIND***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 27337-h.txt or 27337-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/3/3/27337">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/3/3/27337</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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