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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29166-8.txt b/29166-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..05a7965 --- /dev/null +++ b/29166-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3729 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Mercury, by Eleanor M. Ingram + +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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flying Mercury + +Author: Eleanor M. Ingram + +Illustrator: Edmund Frederick + Bertha Stuart + +Release Date: June 19, 2009 [EBook #29166] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLYING MERCURY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + [Illustration: THE FLYING MERCURY] + + + THE + + FLYING + + MERCURY + + + + By + + ELEANOR M INGRAM + + + Author of + THE GAME AND THE CANDLE + + + + With Illustrations by + + EDMUND FREDERICK + + + Decorations by + + BERTHA STUART + + + + + + INDIANAPOLIS + + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + PUBLISHERS + + + + COPYRIGHT 1910 + + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + * * * * * + + + + +_To_ + +MY MOST DELIGHTFUL COMRADES AND +INDULGENT MOTOR INSTRUCTORS +--MY TWO BROTHERS + + * * * * * + + + + +I + + +The roaring reports of the motor fell into abrupt silence, as the +driver brought his car to a halt. + +"You signaled?" he called across the grind of set brakes. + +In the blending glare of the searchlights from the two machines, the +gray one arriving and the limousine drawn to the roadside, the young +girl stood, her hand still extended in the gesture which had stopped +the man who now leaned across his wheel. + +"Oh, please," she appealed again. + +On either side stretched away the Long Island meadows, dark, +soundless, apparently uninhabited. Only this spot of light broke the +monotony of dreariness. A keen, chill, October wind sighed past, +stirring the girl's delicate gown as its folds lay unheeded in the +dust, fluttering her fur-lined cloak and shaking two or three childish +curls from the bondage of her velvet hood. The driver swung himself +down and came toward her with the unhasting swiftness of one trained +to the unexpected. + +"I beg pardon--can I be of some use?" he asked. + +"We are lost," she confessed hurriedly. "If you could set us right, I +should be grateful. I--we must get home soon. I have been a guest at a +house somewhere here, and started to return to New York this +afternoon. The chauffeur does not know Long Island; we can not seem +to find any place. And now we have lost a tire. I was afraid--" + +She broke off abruptly, as her companion descended from the limousine. + +"We only want to know the way; we're all right," he explained. "This +is my cousin; I came out after her, you see. Don't get so worried, +Emily--we'll go straight on as soon as Anderson changes the tire." + +He huddled his words slightly and spoke too rapidly, the round, +good-humored face he turned to the white light was too flushed; +otherwise there was nothing unusual in his appearance. And his caste +was evident and unquestionable, in spite of any circumstance. There +was no anger in the girl's dark eyes as she gazed straight before her, +only pity and helpless distress. + +"I can tell your chauffeur the road," the driver of the gray car +quietly said. "Have you far to go?" + +"To the St. Royal," she answered, looking at him. "My uncle is there. +Is that far?" + +"No; you can reach there by ten o'clock. I will speak to your +chauffeur." + +"Do, like a good fellow," the other man interposed. "Awfully obliged. +You're not angry, Emily," he added, lowering his voice, and moving +nearer her. "Since we're engaged, why should you get frightened simply +because I proposed we get married to-night instead of waiting for a +big wedding? I thought it was a good idea, you know. It isn't my fault +Anderson got lost instead of getting us home for dinner, is it?" + +"Hush, Dick," she rebuked, hot color sweeping her face. "You, you are +not well. And we are not engaged; you forget. Just because people want +us to be--" Too proud to let her steadiness quiver, she broke the +sentence. + +If the driver had heard, and it was scarcely possible that he had not, +he made no sign. By the acetylene light he produced an envelope and +pencil, and proceeded to sketch a map, showing the route to the +limousine's chauffeur. + +"Understand it?" he queried, concluding. He had a certain decision of +manner, not in the least arrogant, but the result of a serene +self-surety that somehow accorded with his lithe, trained grace of +movement. A judge of men would have read him an athlete, perhaps in an +unusual line. + +"Yes, sir," the chauffeur replied. "I'll get Miss Ffrench home in no +time after I get the tire on." + +The indiscretion of the spoken name was ignored, except for a slight +lift of the hearer's eyebrows. + +"How long does it take you to change a tire?" + +"About half an hour; it's night, of course." + +An odd, choking gurgle sounded from the gray machine, where a dark +figure had sat until now in quiescent muteness. + +"Half an hour!" echoed the gray machine's driver, and faced toward the +chuckle. "Rupert, it isn't in your contract, but do you want to come +over and change this tire?" + +"I'll do it for you, Darling," was the sweet response; the small +figure rolled over the edge of the car with a cat-like celerity. +"Where are your tools, you chauffeur? Quick!" + +The bewildered chauffeur mechanically reached for a box on the +running-board, as the young assistant came up, grinning all over his +malign dark face. + +"Oh, quicker! What's the matter, rheumatism? They wouldn't have you in +a training camp for motor trucks on Sunday. Hustle, _please_." + +There never had been anything done to that sedate limousine quite as +this was done. Even the preoccupied girl looked on in fascination at a +rapidity of unwasted movement suggesting a conjuring feat. + +"By George!" exclaimed her escort. "A splendid man you've got there! +Really, a splendid chauffeur, you know." + +The driver smiled with a gleam of irony, but disregarded the comment. + +"Would you like to get into your car?" he asked the girl. "You will be +able to start very soon." + +"I see that," she acknowledged gratefully. "Thank you; I would rather +wait here." + +"Is your chauffeur trustworthy?" + +"Oh, yes; he has been in my uncle's employ for three years. But he was +never before out here, in this place." + +There was a pause, filled by the soft monotone of insults drifting +from the side of the limousine, for Rupert talked while he worked and +his fellow-worker did not please him. + +"Wrench, baby hippo! Oh, look behind you where you put it--you need a +memory course. You ought to be passing spools to a lady with a +sewing-machine. Did you ever see a motor-car before? There, pump her +up, do." He rose, drew out his watch and glanced at it. "Five minutes; +I'll have to beat that day after to-morrow." + +The driver looked over at him and their eyes laughed together. Now, +for the first time, the girl noticed that across the shoulders of both +men's jerseys ran in silver letters the name of a famous foreign +automobile. + +"I am very grateful, indeed," she said bravely and graciously. "I wish +I could say more, or say it better. The journey will be short, now." + +But all her dignity could not check the frightened shrinking of her +glance, first toward the interior of the limousine and then toward the +man who was to enter there with her. And the driver of the gray +machine saw it. + +"We have done very little," he returned. "May I put you in your car?" + +The chauffeur was gathering his tools, speechlessly outraged, and +making ready to start. Seated among the rugs and cushions, under the +light of the luxurious car, the girl deliberately drew off her glove +and held out her small uncovered hand to the driver of the gray +machine. + +"Thank you," she said again, meeting his eyes with her own, whose +darkness contrasted oddly with the blonde curls clustered under her +hood. + +"You are not afraid to drive into the city alone?" he asked. + +"Alone! Why, my cousin--" + +"Your cousin is going to stay with me." + +She flung back her head; amazement, question, relief struggled over +her sensitive face, and finally melted into irrepressible mirth under +the fine amusement of his regard. + +"You are clever--and kind, to do that! No, I am not afraid." + +He closed the door. + +"Take your mistress home," he bade the chauffeur. "Crank for him, +Rupert." + +"Why, why--" stammered the limousine's other passenger, turning as the +motor started. + +No one heeded him. + +"By-by, don't break any records," Rupert called after the chauffeur. +"Hold yourself in, do. If you shed any more tires, telegraph for me, +and if I'm within a day's run I'll come put them on for you and save +you time." + +Silence closed in again, as the red tail-light vanished around a bend. +The gray car's driver nodded curtly to the stupefied youth in the +middle of the road. + +"Unless you want to stay here all night, you'd better get in the +machine," he suggested. "My name's Lestrange--I suppose yours is +Ffrench?" + +"Dick Ffrench. But, see here, you mean well, but I'm going with my +cousin. I'd like a drive with you, but I'm busy." + +"You're not fit to go with your cousin." + +"Not--" + +"Fit," completed Lestrange definitely. "Can you hang on somewhere, +Rupert?" + +"I can," Rupert assured, with an inflection of his own. "Get your +friend aboard." + +Lestrange was already in his seat, waiting. + +"What's that for?" asked the dazed guest, as, on taking his place, a +strap was slipped around his waist, securing him to the seat. + +"So you won't fall out," soothed the grinning Rupert. "You ain't well, +you know. Not that I'd care if you did, but somebody might blame +Darling." + +The car leaped forward, gathering speed to an extent that was a +revelation in motoring to Ffrench. The keen air, the giddy rush +through the dark, were a sobering tonic. After a while he spoke to the +man beside him, nervously embarrassed by a situation he was beginning +to appreciate. + +"This is a racing car?" + +"It was." + +"Isn't it now?" + +"If I were going to race it day after to-morrow, I wouldn't be risking +it over a country road to-night. A racing machine is petted like a +race-horse until it is wanted." + +"And then?" + +"It takes its chances. If you are connected with the Ffrenches who +manufacture the Mercury car, you should know something of automobile +racing yourself. I noticed your limousine was of that make." + +"Yes, that is my uncle's company. I did see a race once at Coney +Island. A car turned over and killed its driver and made a nasty muss. +I--I didn't fancy it." + +A wheel slipped off a stone, giving the car a swerving lurch which was +as instantly corrected--with a second lurch--by its pilot. The effect +was not tranquilizing; the shock swept the last confusion from +Ffrench's brain. + +"Where are you taking me?" he presently asked. + +"Where do you want to go? I will set you down at the next village we +come to; you can stay there to-night or you can get a trolley to the +city." + +The question remained unanswered. Several times Ffrench glanced, +rather diffidently, at his companion's clear, firm profile, and looked +away again without speaking. + +"I went out to get my cousin to-day, and my host gave me a couple of +highballs," he volunteered, at last. "I don't know what you thought--" + +Lestrange twisted his car around a belated farm-wagon. + +"How old are you?" he inquired calmly. + +"Twenty-three." + +"I'm nearly twenty-seven. That's what I thought." + +The simpler mind considered this for a space. + +"Some men are born awake, some awake themselves, and some are shaken +into awakening," paraphrased Lestrange, in addition. "If I were you, +I'd wake up; it comes easier and it's sure to arrive anyhow. There is +the village ahead--shall I stop?" + +"It looks terribly dull," was the doleful verdict. + +"Then come with me," flashed the other unexpectedly; for a fractional +instant his eyes left the road and turned to his companion's face. +"Did you ever see race practice at dawn? Come try a night in a +training camp." + +"You'd bother with me?" + +"Yes." + +A head bobbed up by Ffrench's knee, where Rupert was clinging in some +inexplicable fashion. + +"Once I rode eight miles out there by the hood, head downward, holding +in a pin," he imparted, by way of entertainment. + +Ffrench stared at the reeling perch indicated, and gasped. + +"What for?" he asked. + +"So we could keep on to our control instead of being put out of the +running, of course. Did you guess I was curing a headache?" + +"But you might have been killed!" exclaimed Ffrench. + +Even by the semi-light of the lamps there was visible the +mechanician's droll twist of lip and brow. + +"I'd drive to hell with Lestrange," he explained sweetly, and settled +back in his place. + +Ffrench drew a long breath. After a moment he again looked at the +driver. + +"I'll come," he accepted. "And, thank you." + +It was Lestrange who smiled this time, with a sudden and enchanting +warmth of mirth. + +"We'll try to amuse you," he promised. + + + + +II + + +It was a business consultation that was being held in Mr. Ffrench's +firelit library, in spite of the presence of a tea-table and the young +girl behind it. A consultation between the two partners who composed +the Mercury Automobile Company, of whom the lesser was speaking with a +certain anecdotal weight. + +"And he said he was losing too much time on the turns; so the next +round he took the bend at seventy-two miles an hour. He went over, of +course. The third car we've lost this year; I'm glad the season's +closed." + +Emily Ffrench gave an exclamation, her velvet eyes widening behind +their black lashes. + +"But the driver! Was the poor driver hurt, Mr. Bailey?" + +"He wasn't killed, Miss Emily," answered Bailey, with a tinge of +pensive regret. He was a large, ruddy, white-haired man, with the slow +and careful habit of speech sometimes found in those who live much +with massive machinery. "No, he wasn't killed; he's in the hospital. +But he wrecked as good a car as ever was built, through sheer +foolishness. It costs money." + +Mr. Ffrench responded to the indirect appeal with more than usual +irritation, his level gray eyebrows contracting. + +"We ought to have better drivers. Why do you not get better men, +Bailey? You wanted to go into this racing business; you said the cars +needed advertising. My brother always attended to that side of the +factory affairs, while he lived, with you as his manager. Now it is +altogether in your hands. Why do you not find a proper driver?" + +"Perhaps my hands are not used to holding so much," mused Bailey +unresentfully. "A man might be a good manager, maybe, and weak as a +partner. It isn't the same job. But a first-class driver isn't easy to +get, Mr. Ffrench. There's Delmar killed, and George tied up with +another company, and Dorian retired, all this last season; and we +don't want a foreigner. There's only one man I like--" + +"Well, get him. Pay him enough." + +Bailey hunched himself together and crossed his legs. + +"Yes, sir. He's beaten our cars--and others--every race lately, with +poorer machines, just by sheer pretty driving. He drives fast, yet he +don't knock out his car. But there's a lot after him--there's just one +way we could get him, and get him for keeps." + +"And that?" + +"He's ambitious; he wants to get into something more solid than +racing. If we offered to make him manager, he'd come and put some new +ideas, maybe, into the factory, and race our cars wherever we chose to +enter them. I know him pretty well." + +The proposition was advanced tentatively, with the hesitation of one +venturing in unknown places. But Ethan Ffrench said nothing, his gray +eyes fixed on the hearth. + +"He understands motor construction and designing, and he's been with +big foreign firms," Bailey resumed, after waiting. "He'd be useful +around; I can't be everywhere. What he'd do for us in racing would +help a whole lot. It's very well to make a fine standard car, but it +needs advertising to keep people remembering. And men like to say 'my +machine is the same as Lestrange won the Cup race with.' They like +it." + +"I don't know," said Mr. Ffrench slowly, "that it is dignified for the +manager of the Mercury factory to be a racing driver." + +"The Christine cars are driven by the son of the man who makes them," +was the response. "Some drive their own." + +"The son of the man who makes them," repeated the other. He turned his +face still more to the quivering fire, his always severe expression +hardening strangely and bitterly. "The son--" + +The girl rose to draw the crimson curtains before the windows and to +push an electric switch, filling the room with a subdued golden glow +in place of the late afternoon grayness. Her delicate face, as she +regarded her uncle, revealed most strongly its characteristic +over-earnestness and a sensitive reflection of the moods of those +around her. Emily Ffrench's childhood had been passed in a Canadian +convent, and something of its mysticism clung about her. As the +cheerful change she had wrought flashed over the room, Mr. Ffrench +held out his hand in a gesture of summons, so that she came across to +sit on the broad arm of his chair during the rest of the conference, +her soft gaze resting on the third member. + +"My adopted son and nephew having no such talents, we must do the best +we can," Mr. Ffrench stated, with his most precise coldness. "Being +well-born and well-bred, he has no taste for a mechanic's labor or for +circus performances with automobiles in public. Who is your man, +Bailey?" + +"Lestrange, sir. You must have heard of him often." + +"I never read racing news." + +"I read ours," said Bailey darkly. "We've been licked often enough by +him. And he's straight--he's one of the few men who'll stop at the +grand-stand and lose time reporting a smash-up and sending help +around. Every man on the track likes Darling Lestrange." + +"Likes _whom_?" + +Bailey flushed brick-red. + +"I didn't mean to call him that. He signs himself D. Lestrange, and +some of them started reading it Darling, joking because he was such a +favorite and because they liked him anyhow. It's just a nickname." + +Emily laughed out involuntarily, surprised. + +"I beg pardon," she at once apologized, "but it sounded so frivolous." + +"If you try this man, you had better keep that nickname out of the +factory," Mr. Ffrench advised stiffly. "What respect could the workmen +feel for a manager with such a title? If possible, you would do well +to prevent them from recognizing him as the racing driver." + +Bailey, who had risen at the chime of a clock, halted amazed. + +[Illustration] + +"Respect for him!" he echoed. "Not recognize him! Why, there isn't a +man on the place who wouldn't give his ears to be seen on the same +side of the street with Lestrange, let alone to work under him. They +_do_ read the racing news. That part of it will be all right, if I can +have him." + +"If it is necessary--" + +"I think it is, sir." + +Emily moved slightly, pushing back her yellow-brown curls under the +ribbon that banded them. On a sudden impulse her uncle looked up at +her. + +"What is your opinion?" he questioned. "If Dick had been listening I +should have asked his, and I fancy yours is fully as valuable. Come, +shall we have this racing manager?" + +Astonished, she looked from her uncle to the other man. And perhaps it +was the real anxiety and suspense of Bailey's expression that drew her +quick reply. + +"Let us, uncle. Since we need him, let us have him." + +"Very well," said Mr. Ffrench. "You hear, Bailey." + +There was a long silence after the junior partner's withdrawal. + +"Come where I can see you, Emily," her uncle finally demanded. "I +liked your decided answer a few moments ago; you can reason. How long +have you been a daughter in my house?" + +"Six years," she responded, obediently moving to a low chair opposite. +"I was fifteen when you took me from the convent--to make me very, +very happy, dear." + +"I sent for you when I sent for Dick, and for the same reason. I have +tried three times to rear one of my name to fitness to bear it, and +each one has failed except you. I wish you were a man, Emily; there +is work for a Ffrench to do." + +"When you say that, I wish I were. But--I'm not, I'm not." She flung +out her slender, round arms in a gesture of helpless resignation. "I'm +not even a strong-minded woman who might do instead. Uncle Ethan, may +I ask--it was Mr. Bailey who made me think--my cousin whom I never +saw, will he never come home?" + +Her voice faltered on the last words, frightened at her own daring. +But her uncle answered evenly, if coldly: + +"Never." + +"He offended you so?" + +"His whole life was an offense. School, college, at home, in each he +went wrong. At twenty-one he left me and married a woman from the +vaudeville stage. It is not of him you are to think, Emily, but of a +substitute for him. For that I designed Dick; once I hoped you would +marry him and sober his idleness." + +"Please, no," she refused gently. "I am fond of Dick, but--please, +no." + +"I am not asking it of you. He is well enough, a good boy, not +overwise, but not what is needed here. Failed, again; I am not +fortunate. There is left only you." + +"Me?" + +Her startled dark eyes and his determined gray ones met, and so +remained. + +"You, and your husband. Are you going to marry a man who can take my +place in this business, in the factory and the model village my +brother and I built around it; a man whose name will be fit to join +with ours and so in a fashion preserve it here? Will you wait until +such a one is found and will you aid me to find him? Or will you too +follow selfish, idle fancies of your own?" + +"No!" she answered, quite pale. "I would not do that! I will try to +help." + +"You will take up the work the men of your name refuse, you will +provide a substitute for them?" + +Her earnestness sprang to meet his strength of will, she leaned nearer +in her enthusiasm of self-abnegation, scarcely understood. + +"I will find a substitute or accept yours. I, indeed I will try not to +fail." + +It was characteristic that he offered neither praise nor caress. + +"You have relieved my mind," said Ethan Ffrench, and turned his face +once more to the fire. + + + + +III + + +It was October when the consultation was held in the library of the +old Ffrench house on the Hudson; December was very near on the sunny +morning that Emily drove out to the factory and sought Bailey in his +office. + +"I wanted to talk with you," she explained, as that gentleman rose to +receive her. "We have known each other for a long time, Mr. Bailey; +ever since I came from the Sacred Heart to live with Uncle Ethan. That +is a _very_ long time." + +"It's a matter of five or six years," agreed the charmed Bailey, +contemplating her with affectionate pride in her prettiness and grace. +"You used to drive out here with your pony and spend many an hour +looking on and asking questions. You'll excuse me, Miss Emily, but +there was many a man passed the whisper that you'd have made a fine +master of the works." + +She shook her head, folding her small gloved hands upon the edge of +the desk at the opposite sides of which they were seated. + +"At least I would have tried. I am quite sure I would have tried. But +I am only a girl. I came to ask you something regarding that," she +lifted her candid eyes to his, her soft color rising. "Do you +know--have you ever met any men who cared and understood about such +factories as this? Men who could take charge of a business, the +manufacturing and racing and selling, like my uncles? I have a reason +for asking." + +"Sure thing," said Bailey, unexpectedly prompt. "I've met one man who +knows how to handle this factory better than I do, and I've been at it +twelve years. And there he is--" he turned in his revolving chair and +rolled up the shade covering the glass-set door into the next room, +"my manager, Lestrange." + +The scene thus suddenly opened to the startled Emily was sufficiently +matter-of-fact, yet not lacking in a certain sober animation of its +own. Around a drafting table central in the bare, systematic disorder +of the apartment beyond, three or four blue-shirted men were grouped, +bending over a set of drawings, which Lestrange was explaining. +Explaining with a vivid interest in his task that sparkled over his +clear face in a changing play of expression almost mesmeric in its +command of attention. The men watched and listened intently; they +themselves no common laborers, but the intelligent workmen who were to +carry out the ideas here set forth. Wherever Lestrange had been, he +was coatless and the sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled back, +leaving bare the arms whose smooth symmetry revealed little of the +racing driver's strength; his thick brown hair was rumpled into boyish +waves and across his forehead a fine black streak wrote of recent +personal encounter with things practical. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Emily faintly. And after a moment, "Close the curtain, +please." + +None of the group in the next room had noticed the movement of the +shade, absorbed in one another; any sound being muffled by the throb +of adjacent machinery. Bailey obeyed the request, and leaned back in +his chair. + +"That's Darling Lestrange," he stated with satisfaction. "That's his +own design for an oiling system he's busy with, and it's a beauty. +He's entered for every big race coming this season, starting next week +in Georgia, and meantime he oversees every department in every +building as it never was done before. The man for me, he is." + +Emily made an unenthusiastic sign of agreement. + +"I meant very different men from Mr. Lestrange," she replied, her +dignity altogether Ffrench. "I have no doubt that he is all you say, +but I was thinking of another class. I meant--well, I meant a +gentleman." + +"Oh, you meant a gentleman," replied Bailey, surveying her oddly. "I +didn't know, you see. No; I don't know any one like that." + +"Thank you. Then I will go. I--it does not matter." + +She did not go, however, but remained leaning on the arm of her chair +in troubled reverie, her long lashes lowered. Bailey sat as quietly, +watching her and waiting. + +The murmur of voices came dully through the closed door, one, lighter +and clearer in tone, most frequently rising above the roar pervading +the whole building. It was not possible that Emily's glimpse of +Lestrange across the glass should identify him absolutely with the man +she had seen once in the flickering lights and shadows on the Long +Island road; but he was not of a type easily forgotten, and she had +been awakened to a doubting recognition. + +Now, many little circumstances recurred to her; a strangeness in +Dick's manner when the new manager was alluded to, the fact that her +rescuer on that October night had been driving a racing car and had +worn a racing costume; and lastly, when Bailey spoke of "Darling" +Lestrange there had flashed across her mind the mechanician's +ridiculous answer to the request to aid her chauffeur in changing a +tire: "I'll do it for you, Darling." And listening to that dominant +voice in the next room, she slowly grew crimson before a vision of +herself in the middle of a country road, appealing to a stranger for +succor, like the heroine of melodramatic fiction. Decidedly, she +would never see Lestrange, never let him discover Miss Ffrench. + +"I will go," she reiterated, rising impetuously. + +The glass-set door opened with unwarning abruptness. + +"I'll see Mr. Bailey," declared some one. "He'll know." + +Helpless, Emily stood still, and straightway found herself looking +directly into Lestrange's gray eyes as he halted on the threshold. + +It was Bailey who upheld the moment, all unconsciously. + +"Come in," he invited heartily. "Miss Ffrench, this is our manager, +Mr. Lestrange; the man who's going to double our sales this year." + +Emily moved, then straightened herself proudly, lifting her small +head. Lestrange had recognized her, she felt; the call was to +courage, not flight. + +"I think I have already met Mr. Lestrange," she said composedly. "I am +pleased to meet him again." + +"Met him!" cried Bailey. "Met him? Why--" + +Neither heeded him. A gleaming surprise and warmth lit Lestrange's +always brilliant face. + +"Thank you," he answered her. "You are more than good to recall me, +Miss Ffrench. I owe an apology for breaking in this way, but I fancied +Mr. Bailey alone--and he spoils me." + +"It is nothing; I was about to go." She turned to give Bailey her +hand, smiling involuntarily in her relief. With a glance, an +inflection, Lestrange had stripped their former meeting of its +embarrassment and unconventionality, how, she neither analyzed nor +cared. + +"Good morning," said Bailey. "Shall I take you through, or--" + +But Lestrange was already holding open the door, with a bright +unconcern as to his workmanlike costume which impressed Emily +pleasantly. She wondered if Dick would have borne the situation as +well, in the impossible event of his being found at work. + +The two walked together down an aisle of the huge, machinery-crowded +room, the grimy men lifting their heads to gaze after Emily as she +passed. Once Lestrange paused to speak to a man who sat, note-book and +pencil in hand, beside another who manipulated under a grinding wheel +a delicate aluminum casting. + +"Pardon," he apologized to Emily, who had lingered also. "Mathews +would have let that go wrong in another moment. He," his smile glanced +out, "he is not a Rupert at changing his tires, so to speak, but just +a good chauffeur." + +The gay and natural allusion delighted her. For the first time in her +life Emily Ffrench laughed out in a genuine, mischievous sense of +adventure. + +"Yes? I wonder you could separate yourself from that Rupert to come +here; he was a most bewildering person," she retorted. + +"Separate from Rupert? Why, I would not think of racing a taxicab, as +he would say, without Rupert beside me. He is here taking a +post-graduate course in this type of car, in order to be up to his +work when we go down to Georgia next week." + +"Next week? You expect to win that race?" + +"No. We are running a stock car against some heavy foreign racing +machines; the chance of winning is slight. But I hope to outrun any +other American car on the course, if nothing goes wrong." + +She looked up. + +"And if something does?" she wondered. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"Pray be careful of those moving belts behind you, Miss Ffrench. If +something does--there is a chance in every game worth playing." + +"A chance!" her feminine nerves recoiled from the implied +consequences. "But only a chance, surely. You were never in an +accident, never were hurt?" + +Lestrange regarded her in surprise mingled with a dawning raillery +infinitely indulgent. + +"I had no accidents last season," he guardedly responded. "I've been +quite lucky. At least Rupert and I play our game unhampered; there +will be no broken hearts if we are picked up from under our car some +day." + +They had reached the door while he spoke; as he put his hand on the +knob to open it, Emily saw a long zigzag scar running up the extended +arm from wrist to elbow, a mute commentary on the conversation. In +silence she passed out across the courtyard to where her red-wheeled +cart waited. But when Lestrange had put her in and given her the +reins, she held out her hand to him with more gravity. + +"I shall wish you good luck for next week," she said. + +Lestrange threw back his head, drawing a quick breath; here in the +strong sunlight he showed even younger than she had thought him, young +with a primitive intensity of just being alive. + +"Thank you. I would like--if it were possible--to win this race." + +"This one, especially?" + +"Yes, because it is the next step toward a purpose I have set myself, +and which I shall accomplish if I live. Not that I will halt if this +step fails, no, nor for a score of such failures, but I am anxious to +go on and finish." + +Up to Emily's face rushed the answering color and fire to his; drawn +by the bond of mutual earnestness, she leaned nearer. + +"You live to do something? So do I, so do I! And every one else +_plays_." + +However Lestrange would have replied, he was checked by the crash of +the courtyard gate. Abruptly recalled to herself, Emily turned, to see +Dick Ffrench coming toward them. + +Remembering how the three had last met, the situation suggested +strain. But to Emily's astonishment the young men exchanged friendly +nods, although Dick flushed pink. + +"Good morning, Lestrange," he greeted. "I've just come up from the +city, Emily, and there wasn't any carriage at the station, so when one +of the testers told me you were here I came over to get a ride." + +"I've been to see Mr. Bailey," she responded. "Get in." + +As Dick climbed in beside her, she bent her head to Lestrange; if she +had regretted her impulsive confidence, again the clear sanity and +calm of the gray eyes she encountered established self-content. + +When they were trotting down the road toward home, in the crisp air, +Emily glanced at her cousin. + +"I did not know you and Mr. Lestrange were so well acquainted," she +remarked. + +"I see him now and then," Dick answered uneasily. "He's too busy to +want me bothering around him much. You--remembered him?" + +"Yes." + +He absently took the whip from its socket, flecking the horse with it +as he spoke. + +"It was awfully square of you, Emily, not to mention that night to +Uncle Ethan. It wasn't like a girl, at all. I made an idiot of +myself, and you've never said anything to me about it since. I never +told you where Lestrange took me, because I didn't like to talk of the +thing. I'm really awfully fond of you, cousin." + +"Yes, Dickie," she said patiently. + +"Well, Lestrange rubbed it in. Oh, he didn't say much. But he carried +me down to where they were practising for a road race. Such a jolly +lot of fellows, like a bunch of kids; teasing and calling jokes back +and forth at one another half the night until daybreak, everything raw +and chilly. Busy, and their mechanics busy, and one after another +swinging into his car and going off like a rocket. By the time +Lestrange went off, I was as much stirred up as anybody. When he made +a record circuit at seventy-seven miles an hour average, I was +shouting over the rail like a good one. And then, while he was off +again, a big blue car rolled in and its driver yelled that Lestrange +had gone over on the Eastbury turn, and to send around the ambulance. +It was like a nightmare; I sat down on a stone and felt sick." + +"He--" + +"He shook me up half an hour later, and stood laughing at me. 'Upset?' +he said. 'No; we shed a tire and went off into a field, but it didn't +hurt the machine, so we righted her and came in.' He was limping and +bruised and scratched, but he was laughing, while a crowd of people +were trying to shake hands with him and say things. I felt--funny; as +if I wasn't much good. I never felt like that before. 'This is only +practise,' he said, when I was about to go. 'The race to-morrow will +do better. We find it more exciting than cocktails.' That was all, but +I knew what he meant, all right. I've been careful ever since. He won +the race next day, too." + +"Dick, didn't it ever occur to you that you as well as Mr. Lestrange +might do real things?" she asked, after a moment. + +He turned his round, good-humored face to her in boundless amazement. + +"I? I race cars and break my neck and call it fun, like Lestrange? +You're laughing at me, Emily." + +"No, no," in spite of herself the picture evoked brought her smile. +"Not like that. But you might be interested in the factory. You might +learn from Mr. Bailey and take charge of the business with Uncle +Ethan. It would please uncle, _how_ it would please him, if you +did!" + +[Illustration] + +Dick stirred unhappily. + +"It would take a lot of grind," he objected. "I haven't the head for +it, really. I'm not such an awfully bad lot, but I hate work. Let's +not be serious, cousin. How pretty the frosty wind makes you look!" + +Emily tightened the reins with a brief sigh of resignation. + +"Never mind, Dickie. I--uncle will find a substitute. Things must go +on somehow, I suppose, even if we do not like the way." + +But the way loomed distasteful that morning as never before. + + + + +IV + + +Mr. Ffrench and his niece were at breakfast, on the Sunday when the +first account of the Georgia race reached Ffrenchwood. + +"You will take fresh coffee," Emily was saying, the little silver pot +poised in her hand, when the door burst open and Dick hurried, +actually hurried, into the room. + +"He's won! He's got it!" he cried, brandishing the morning newspaper. +"The first time for an American car with an American driver. And how +he won it! He distanced every car on the track except the two big +Italian and French machines. Those he couldn't get, of course; but the +Frenchman went out in the fourth hour with a broken valve. Then he +was set down for second place--second place, Emily, with every other +big car in the country entered. They say he drove like, like--I don't +know what. A hundred and some miles an hour on the straight +stretches." + +"Oh," Emily faltered, setting down the coffee-pot in her plate. + +He stopped her eagerly, half turning toward Mr. Ffrench, who had put +on his pince-nez to contemplate his nephew in stupefaction, not at his +statement, but at his condition. + +"Wait. In the last hour, the Italian car lost its chain and went over +into a ditch on a back stretch, three miles from a doctor. People +around picked the men out of the wreck, and Lestrange came up to find +that the driver was likely to die from a severed artery before help +got there. Emily, he stopped, stopped, with victory in his hands, had +the Italian lifted into the mechanician's seat, and Rupert held him in +while they dashed around the course to the hospital. He got him there +fifteen minutes before an ambulance could have reached him, and the +man will get well. But Lestrange had lost six minutes. He had rushed +straight to the doctor's, given them the man, and gone right on, but +he had lost six minutes. When people realized what he'd done, they +went wild. Every one thought he'd lost the race, but they cheered him +until they couldn't shout. And he kept on driving. It's all here," he +waved the gaudy sheet. "The paper's full of it. He had half an hour to +make up six minutes, and he did it. He came in nineteen seconds ahead +of the nearest car. The crowd swarmed out on the course and fell all +over him. Old Bailey's nearly crazy." + +To see Dick excited would have been marvel enough to hold his auditors +mute, if the story itself had not possessed a quality to stir even +non-sporting blood. Emily could only sit and gaze at the head-lines of +the extended newspaper, her dark eyes wide and shining, her soft lips +apart. + +"He telegraphed to Bailey," Dick added, in the pause. "Ten words: +'First across line in Georgia race. Car in fine shape. Lestrange.' +That was all." + +Mr. Ffrench deliberately passed his coffee-cup to Emily. + +"You had better take your breakfast," he advised. "It is unusual to +see you noticing business affairs, Dick; I might say unprecedented. I +am glad if Bailey's new man is capable of his work, at least. I +suppose for the rest, that he could scarcely do less than take an +injured person to the hospital. Why are you putting sugar in my cup, +Emily?" + +"I don't know," she acknowledged helplessly. + +"I didn't mean to disturb any one," said Dick, sulky and resentful. +"It'll be a big thing though for our cars, Bailey says. I didn't know +you disliked Lestrange." + +Mr. Ffrench stiffened in his chair. + +"I have not sufficient interest in the man to dislike him," was the +cold rebuke. "We will change the subject." + +Emily bent her head, remedying her mistake with the coffee. She +comprehended that her uncle had conceived one of his strong, silent +antipathies for the young manager, and she was sorry. Sorry, although, +remembering Bailey's unfortunate speech the night Lestrange's +engagement was proposed, she was not surprised. But she looked across +to Dick sympathetically. So sympathetically, that after breakfast he +followed her into the library, the colored journals in his hand. + +"What's the matter with the old gentleman this morning?" he +complained. "He wants the business to succeed, doesn't he? If he does, +he ought to like what Lestrange is doing for it. What's the matter +with him?" + +Emily shook back her yellow curls, turning her gaze on him. + +"You might guess, Dickie. He is lonely." + +"Lonely! He!" + +All the feminine impulse to defend flared up. + +"Why not?" she exclaimed with passion. "Who has he got? Who stands +with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired +to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he +dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, Dick Ffrench." + +Quite aghast, he stared after her as she turned away to the nearest +window. But presently he followed her over, still holding the papers. + +"Don't you want to read about the race?" he ventured. + +Smiling, though her lashes were damp, Emily accepted the peace +offering. + +"Yes, please." + +"You're not angry? You know I'm a stupid chump sometimes; I don't mean +it." + +This time she laughed outright. + +"No; I am sorry I was cross. It is I who would like to shirk my work. +Never mind me; let us read." + +They did read, seated opposite each other in the broad window-seat and +passing the sheets across as they finished them. Dick had not +exaggerated, on the contrary he had not said enough. Lestrange and his +car were the focus of the hour's attention. The daring, the reckless +courage that risked life for victory, the generosity which could throw +that victory away to aid a comrade, and lastly the determination and +skill which had won the conquest after all--the whole formed a feat +too spectacular to escape public hysteria. It was very doubtful +indeed whether Lestrange liked his idolizing, but there was no escape. + +The two who read were young. + +"It was a splendid fight," sighed Dick, when they dropped the last +page. + +"Yes," Emily assented. "When he comes back, when you see him, give him +my congratulations." + +"When I see him? Why don't you tell him yourself?" + +Something like a white shadow wiped the scarlet of excitement from her +cheeks, as she averted her face. + +"I shall not see him; I shall not go to the factory any more. It will +be better, I am sure." + +Vaguely puzzled and dismayed, Dick sat looking at her, not daring to +question. + +Emily kept her word during the weeks that followed. Through Dick and +Bailey she heard of factory affairs; of the sudden increase of orders +for the Mercury automobiles, the added prestige gained, and the public +favor bestowed on the car. But she saw nothing of the man who was +responsible for all this. Instead she went out more than ever before. +Their social circle was too painfully exclusive to be large or gay. + +Three times a week it was Mr. Ffrench's stately custom to visit the +factory and inspect it with Bailey. At other times Bailey came up to +the house, where affairs were conducted. But in neither place did Mr. +Ffrench ever come in contact with his manager, during all the months +while winter waxed and waned again to spring. + +"That's Bailey's doing," chuckled Dick, when Emily finally wondered +aloud at the circumstance. "He isn't going to risk losing Lestrange +because our high and mighty uncle falls out with him. And it would be +pretty likely to happen if they met. Lestrange has a temper, you know, +even if it doesn't stick out all over him like a hedgehog; and a dozen +other companies would give money to get him." + +Emily nodded gravely. It was a sunny morning in the first of March, +and the cousins were at the end of the old park surrounding +Ffrenchwood, where they had strolled before breakfast. + +"Mr. Bailey likes Mr. Lestrange," she commented. + +"Likes him! He loves him. You know Lestrange lives with him; a +bachelor household, cozy as grigs." + +Just past here ran the road, beyond a high cedar hedge. While he was +speaking, the irregular explosive reports of a motor had sounded down +the valley, unmistakable to those familiar with the testing of the +stripped cars, and rapidly approaching. Now, as Emily would have +answered, the roar suddenly changed in character, an appalling series +of explosions mingled with the grind of outraged machinery suddenly +braked, and some one shouted above the din. The next instant a huge +mass shot past the other side of the hedge and there followed a dull +crash. + +"That's one of our men!" gasped Dick, and plunged headlong through the +shrubbery. + +Dazed momentarily, Emily stood, then caught up her skirts and ran +after him. She knew well enough what the testers of the cars risked. + +"Dick!" she appealed. "Dick!" + +But it was not the wreck she anticipated that met her eyes as she came +through the hedge. On the opposite side of the road a long low +skeleton car was standing, one side lurched drunkenly down with two +wheels in the gutter. Still in his seat, the driver was leaning over +the steering-wheel, out of breath, but laughing a greeting to the +astonished Dick. + +"A break in the steering-gear," he declared, by way of explanation. "I +told Bailey it was a weak point; now perhaps he'll believe me and +strengthen it." + +"You're not hurt," Dick inferred. + +"I think she's not--a tire gone. Find anything wrong, Rupert?" + +"Two tires off," said the laconic mechanician. "Two funerals +postponed. That was a pretty stop, Darling." + +"Very," coolly agreed Lestrange, rising and removing his goggles. +"What's the matter, Ffrench?" + +"You frightened us out of our five senses, that's all. Do you usually +practise for races out here?" + +"_Us?_" repeated Lestrange, and turning, saw the girl at the edge of +the park. "Miss Ffrench, I beg your pardon!" + +The swift change in his tone, the ease of deference with which he +bared his head and, motor caps not being readily donned or doffed, so +remained bareheaded in the bright sunlight, savored of the Continent. + +"It is too commonplace to say good morning," Emily replied, her color +rising with her smile. "I am very glad you escaped. But that is +commonplace, too, I'm afraid." + +"Every one is commonplace before breakfast," reassured her cousin. +"Honestly, Lestrange, do you practise racing here?" + +"Hardly. I'm trying out the car; every car has to go through that +before it is used. Don't you know that we've recently secured from the +local authorities a permit to run at any speed over this road between +four o'clock and eight in the morning? I thought all the country-side +knew that." + +"But we have a regiment of men to test cars." + +Lestrange passed a caressing glance over the dingy-gray machine in its +state of bareness that suggested indecorum. + +"This is my car, the one I'll race this spring and summer. No one +drives it but me. Besides, I have to have some diversion." + +He stepped to the ground with the last word, and went around to where +Rupert was on his knees beside the machine. + +"Can you fix it here?" he demanded. + +"Not precisely," was the drawled reply. "Back to camp for it with a +horse in front." + +"All right. You'll have to walk down and get a car from Mr. Bailey to +tow it home." + +Rupert got up, his dark, malign little face twisted. + +"If I'd broken a leg they'd have sent a cart for me," he mourned. "Now +I'll have to walk, and I ain't used to it. Hard luck!" + +"If you go around to the stables they will give you my pony cart," +Emily offered impulsively. "You," her dimpling smile gleamed out, "you +once put a tire on for me, you know. Please let me return the +service." + +Rupert's black eyes opened, a slow grin of appreciation crinkled +streaks of dust and oil as he surveyed the young girl. + +"I'll put tires on every wheel you run into control, day and night +shifts," he acknowledged with sweet cordiality. "But I'm no +horse-chauffeur, thanks; I guess I'll walk." + +"He is a gentle pony," she remonstrated. "Any one can drive him." + +He turned a side glance toward the motionless car. + +"That's all right, but I'm used to being killed other ways. I'll be +going." + +"Jack Rupert, do you mean to tell me that you will race with +Lestrange every season, and yet you're afraid to drive a fat cob?" +cried the delighted Dick. + +"I'm not telling anything. I had a chum who was pitched out by a horse +he lost control of, and broke his neck. I'm taking no chances." + +"How many men have you seen break their necks out of autos?" + +"That's in business," pronounced Rupert succinctly. "I'm going on, +Darling; it's only a two-mile run." + +"Here, wait," Dick urged. "Emily, I'll stroll around to the stables +with him and make one of the men drive him down. You don't mind my +leaving you?" + +"No," Emily answered. "I will wait for you." + +She might have walked back alone, if she had chosen. But instead she +sat down on a boulder near the hedge, folding her hands in her lap +like a demure child. The house was so dull, so hopelessly monotonous +contrasted with this fresh, wind-tossed outdoors and Lestrange in his +vigor of life and glamour of ultramodern adventure. + +"You and Mr. Ffrench are very good," Lestrange said presently. "I am +afraid I appreciate it more than Rupert, though." + +"Is he really afraid of horses?" + +"I should not wonder; I never tried him. But he is amazingly +truthful." + +Their eyes met across the strip of sunny road as they smiled; again +Emily felt the sudden confidence, the falling away of all constraint +before the direct clarity of his regard. + +"You won your race," she said irrelevantly. "I was glad, since you +wanted it." + +"Thank you," he returned with equal simplicity. "But I did not want it +that way, so far as I was concerned." + +"Yet, it was the next step?" + +"Yes, it was the next step. I meant that one does not care to be +victor because the leading cars were wrecked. There is no elation in +defeating a driver who lies out on the course. But, as you say, it +helped my purpose. You," he hesitated for the right phrase, "you are +most kind to recall that I have a purpose." + +It was the convent-bred Emily who looked back at him, earnest-eyed, +exaltedly serious. + +"I have thought of it often. Every one else that I know just lives the +way things happen--there are only a few people who grasp things and +_make_ them happen. That is real work; so many of us are just given +work we do not want--" she broke off. + +"If we do not want the work, it is probably not our own," said +Lestrange. "Unless we have brought it on ourselves by a fault we must +undo--I need not speak of that to you. One must not make the mistake +of assuming some one else's work." + +He spoke gently, almost as if with a clairvoyant reading of her +tendency to self-immolation. + +"But may not some one else's fault be given us to undo?" she asked +eagerly. "May not their work be forced on us?" + +"No," he answered. + +"No?" bewildered. + +"I don't think so. Each one of us has enough with his own, at least +so it seems to me. Most of us die before we finish it." + +Emily paused, contending with the loneliness and doubts which impelled +her to speech, the feminine yearning to let another decide her +problems. This other's nonchalant strength of decision allured her +uncertainty. + +"I am discouraged," she confessed. "And tired. I--there is no reason +why I should not speak of it. You know Dick, how he can do nothing in +the factory or business, or in the places where a Ffrench should +stand. All this must fall into the hands of strangers, to be broken +and forgotten, when my uncle dies, for lack of some one who would +care. And Uncle Ethan seems severe and hard, but it grieves him all +the time. His only son was not a good man; he lives abroad with his +wife, who was an actress before he married her. You knew that?" as he +moved. + +"I heard something of it in the village," Lestrange admitted gravely. +"Please do not think me fond of gossip; I could not avoid it. But I +should not have imagined this a family likely to make low marriages." + +"It never happened before. I never saw that cousin, nor did Dick; but +he was always a disappointment, always, Uncle Ethan has told me. And +since he failed, and Dick fails, there is only me." + +"You!" + +She nodded, her lip quivering. + +"Only me. Not as a substitute--I am not fit for that--but to find a +substitute. I have promised my uncle to marry the first one who is +able to be that." + +The silence was absolute. Lestrange neither moved nor spoke, gazing +down at her bent head with an expression blending many shades. + +"It is a duty; there is no one except me," she added. "Only sometimes +I grow--to dislike it too much. I am so selfish that sometimes I hope +a substitute will never come." + +Her voice died away. It was done; she, Emily Ffrench, had deliberately +confided to this stranger that which an hour before she would have +believed no one could force from her lips in articulate speech. And +she neither regretted nor was ashamed, although there was time for +full realization before Lestrange answered. + +"I did not believe," he said, "that such things could be done. It is +nonsense, of course, but such magnificent nonsense! It is the kind of +situation, Miss Ffrench, where any man is justified in interfering. I +beg you will leave the affair in my hands and think no more of such +morbid self-sacrifice." + +Stupefied, Emily flung back her head, staring at him. + +"In _your_ hands?" + +"Since there are none better, it appears. Why," his vivid face +questioned her full and straightly, "you didn't imagine that any man +living could hear what you are doing, and pass on?" + +"My uncle knows--" + +"Your uncle--is not for me to criticize. But do not ask any other man +to let you go on." + +Her ideas reeling, she struggled for comprehension. + +"You, what could you do?" she marveled. "The substitute--" + +"There won't be any substitute," replied Lestrange with perfect +coolness. "I shall train Dick Ffrench to do his work." + +"You--" + +"I can, and I will." + +"He can not--" + +"Oh, yes, he can; he is just idle and spoiled," the firm lips set more +firmly. "He shall take his place. I can handle him." + +Emily sat quite helplessly, her eyes black with excitement. Slowly +recollection flowed back to her of a change in Dick since his light +contact with Lestrange; his avoidance of even occasional highballs, +his awakening interest in the clean sport of the races, and his +half-wistful admiration for the virile driver-manager. + +"I almost believe you could," she conceded. + +"I can," repeated Lestrange. "Only," he openly smiled, "it will be +hard on Dickie." + +It was the touch needed, the antidote to sentiment. Emily laughed with +him, laughed in sheer mischief and relief and leap of youth. + +"You will be gentle--poor Dickie!" + +"I'll be gentle. He is coming now, I think." He took a step nearer +her. "You will leave this in my care, wholly? You will not trouble +about--a substitute?" + +"I will leave it with you. But you are forgetting your own doctrine; +you are taking some one else's work to do." + +"Pardon, I am merely making Ffrench do his work. I have seen a little +more of him than you perhaps know; I understand what I am undertaking. +Moreover, I would forget a great many doctrines to set you free." + +"Free?" she echoed; she had the sensation of being suddenly confronted +with an open door into the unexpected. + +"Free," he quietly reasserted. "Free to live your own life and draw +unhampered breath, and to decide the great question when it comes, +with thought only of yourself." + +She drew back; a prescient dismay fell sharply across her late relief, +a panic crossed with strange delight. + +"He's off," called Dick, emerging from the park. "I made Anderson +take him down with the limousine. At least, Rupert is driving while +Anderson sits alongside and holds on; when they came to the turn in +the avenue, your precious mechanician took it full speed and then +apologized for going so slowly because, as he said, he was an amateur +and likely to upset. Is he really a good driver, Lestrange?" + +"Pretty fair," returned Lestrange serenely, from his seat on the edge +of the ditched machine. "When I'm not using him, he's employed as one +of the factory car testers; and when we're racing I give him the wheel +if I want to fix anything. However, I'm obliged to that +steering-knuckle for breaking here, instead of leaving me to a long +wait in the wilds. Come down to the shop to-morrow at six, and Rupert +and I will even up by taking you for a run." + +"Who; me? You're asking me?" + +"Why not? It's exhilarating." + +Dick removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, +gratification and alarm mingling in his expression with somewhat the +effect of the small boy who is first invited into a game with his +older brother's clique. + +"You--er, wouldn't smash me up?" he hesitated. + +"I haven't smashed up Rupert or myself, so far. If you feel timid, +never mind, of course; I'll take my usual companion." + +Dick flushed all over his plump face, the Ffrench blood up at last. + +"I was only joking," he hastily explained. "I'll come. It's only that +you're so confoundedly reckless sometimes, Lestrange, and--But I'll +come." + +Lestrange gave his fine, glinting smile as he rose to salute Emily. + +"All right. If you don't get down to the factory in time, I'll call +for you," he promised. + + + + +V + + +There was a change in the Ffrench affairs, a lightening of the +atmosphere, a vague quickening and stir of healthful cheer in the days +that followed. The somber master of the house met it in Bailey's +undisguised elation and pride when they discussed the successful +business now taxing the factory's resources, met it yet again in +Emily's pretty gaiety and content. But most strikingly was he +confronted with an alteration in Dick. + +It was only a week after his first morning ride with Lestrange, that +Dick electrified the company at dinner, by turning down the glass at +his plate. + +"I've cut out claret, and that sort of thing," he announced. "It's +bad for the nerves." + +His three companions looked up in complete astonishment. It was +Saturday night and by ancient custom Bailey was dining at the house. + +"What has happened to you? Have you been attending a revival meeting?" +the young man's uncle inquired with sarcasm. + +"It's bad for the nerves," repeated Dick. "There isn't any reason why +I shouldn't like to do anything other fellows do. Les--that is, none +of the men who drive cars ever touch that stuff, and look at their +nerve." + +Mr. Ffrench contemplated him with the irritation usually produced by +the display of ostentatious virtue, but found no comment. Emily gazed +at the table, her red mouth curving in spite of all effort at +seriousness. + +"You're right, Mr. Dick," said Bailey dryly. "Stick to it." + +And Dick stuck, without as much as a single lapse. Ffrenchwood saw +comparatively little of him, as time went on, the village and factory +much. He lost some weight, and acquired a coat of reddish tan. + +Emily watched and admired in silence. She had not seen Lestrange +again, but it seemed to her that his influence overlay all the life of +both house and factory. Sometimes this showed so plainly that she +believed Mr. Ffrench must see, must feel the silent force at work. But +either he did not see or chose to ignore. And Dick was incautious. + +"I'm going to buy one of our roadsters myself," he stated one day. +"Can I have it at cost?" + +Mr. Ffrench felt for his pince-nez. + +"You? Why do you not use the limousine?" + +"Because I don't want to go around in a box driven by a chauffeur. I +want a classy car to run myself. I've been driving some of the +stripped cars, lately, and I like it." + +"I will give you a car, if you want one," answered his uncle, quite +kindly. "Go select any you prefer." + +"Thank you," Dick sat up, beaming. "But I'll have to wait my turn, +we've orders ahead now. Lestrange says I've no right to come in and +make some other fellow wait." + +Mr. Ffrench slowly stiffened. + +"We do not require lessons in ethics from this Lestrange," was the +cold rebuke. "I shall telephone Bailey to send up your car at once." + +Rupert brought the sixty-horse-power roadster to the door, three hours +later. And Emily appreciated that Lestrange was discreet as well as +compelling, when she found the black-eyed young mechanician was +detailed to accompany Dick's maiden trips; which duty was fulfilled, +incidentally, with the fine tact of a Richelieu. + +In May there was a still greater accession of work at the factory. In +addition, the first of June was to open with a twenty-four hour race +at the Beach track, and Lestrange was entered for it. Excitement was +in the air; Dick came in the house only to eat and sleep. + +The day before the race, Mr. Ffrench walked into the room where his +niece was reading. + +"I want to see Bailey," he said briefly. "Do you wish to drive me down +to the factory, or shall I have Anderson bring around the limousine?" + +"Please let us drive," she exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "I have +not been to the factory for months." + +"Very good. You are looking well, Emily, of late." + +Surprised, a soft color swept the face she turned to him. + +"I am well. Dear, I think we are all better this spring." + +"Perhaps," said Ethan Ffrench. His bitter gray eyes passed +deliberately over the large room with all its traces of a family life +extending back to pre-Colonial times, but he said no more. + +It was an exquisite morning, too virginal for June, too richly warm +for May. When the two exchanged the sunny road for the factory office, +a north room none too light, it was a moment before their dazzled eyes +perceived no one was present. This was Bailey's private office, and +its owner had passed into the room beyond. + +"I will wait," conceded Mr. Ffrench, dismissing the boy who had +ushered them in. "Sit down, Emily; Bailey will return directly, no +doubt." + +But Emily had already sat down, for she knew the voice speaking beyond +the half-open door, and that the long-prevented meeting was now +imminent. + +"It will not do," Lestrange was stating definitely. "It should be +reinforced." + +"It's always been strong enough," Bailey's slower tones objected. +"For years. It's not a thing likely to break." + +"Not likely to break? Look at last year's record, Mr. Bailey, and tell +me that. A broken steering-knuckle killed Brook in Indiana, another +sent Little to the hospital in Massachusetts, the same thing wrecked +the leader at the last Beach race and dashed him through the fence. Do +you know what it means to the driver of a machine hurling itself along +the narrow verge of destruction, when the steering-wheel suddenly +turns useless in his grasp? Can you feel the sick helplessness, the +confronting of death, the compressed second before the crash? Is it +worth while to risk it for a bit of costless steel?" + +The clear realism of the picture forced a pause, filled by the dull +roar and throb through the machinery-crowded building. + +"They were not our cars that broke, any of them," Bailey insisted. + +"Not our cars, no. But the steering-knuckle of my own machine broke +under my hands last March, on the road, and if I had been on a curve +instead of a straight stretch there would have been a wreck. As it +was, I brought her to a stop in the ditch. There is no other thing +that may not leave a fighting chance after it breaks, but this leaves +absolutely none. I know, you both know, that the steering-wheel is the +only weapon in the driver's grasp. If it fails him, he goes out and +his mechanician with him." + +Emily paled, shrinking. She remembered the road under the maples and +Lestrange's laughing face as he leaned breathless across his useless +wheel. That was what it had meant, then, the lightly treated episode! + +"You'd better fix it like he wants it," advised Dick's disturbed +tones. "Remember, he's got to drive the car Friday and Saturday, +Bailey, not us." + +"It's not alone for my racer I'm speaking, but for every car that +leaves the shop," Lestrange caught him up. "I'm not flinching; I've +driven the car before and I will again. It may hold for ever, that +part, but I've tested it and it's a weak point--take the warning for +what it's worth." + +There was a movement as if he rose with the last word. Emily laid her +hand on the arm of the chair, turning her excited dark eyes on her +uncle. Surely if ever Mr. Ffrench was to meet his manager, this was +the moment; when Lestrange's ringing argument was still in their ears, +his splendid force of earnestness still vibrant in the atmosphere. And +suddenly she wanted them to meet, passionately wanted Ethan Ffrench's +liking for this man. + +"Uncle," she began. "Uncle--" + +But it was not Lestrange's light step that halted on the threshold. + +"Why, I didn't know--" exclaimed Bailey. "Excuse me, Mr. Ffrench, they +didn't tell me you were down." + +He glanced over his shoulder; as he pulled shut the door Emily fancied +she heard an echo, as if the two young men left the next room. +Bitterly disappointed, she sank back. + +"That was your manager with you?" Mr. Ffrench frigidly inquired. + +"Yes; he went up-stairs to see how the new drill is acting." Bailey +pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed his brow. "Excuse me, it's warm. +Yes, he wants me to strengthen a knuckle--he's spoken considerable +about it. I guess he's right; better too much than too little." + +"I do not see that follows. I should imagine that you understood +building chassis better than this racing driver. You had best consult +outside experts in construction before making a change." + +"Uncle!" Emily cried. + +"There's a twenty-four hour race starts to-morrow night," Bailey +suggested uneasily. "It's easy fixed, and we might be wrong." + +"We have always made them this way?" + +"Yes, but--" + +"Consult experts, then. I do not like your manager's tone; he is too +assuming. Now let me see those papers." + +Emily's parasol slipped to the floor with a sharp crash as she stood +up, quite pale and shaken. + +"Uncle, Mr. Lestrange knows," she appealed. "You heard him say what +would happen--please, please let it be fixed." + +Amazed, Mr. Ffrench looked at her, his face setting. + +"You forget your dignity," he retorted in displeasure. "This is mere +childishness, Emily. Men will be consulted more competent to decide +than this Lestrange. That will do." + +From one to the other she gazed, then turned away. + +"I will wait out in the cart," she said. "I--I would rather be +outdoors." + +Dick Ffrench was up-stairs, standing with Lestrange in one of the +narrow aisles between lines of grimly efficient machines that bit or +cut their way through the steel and aluminum fed to them, when Rupert +came to him with a folded visiting card. + +"Miss Ffrench sent it," was the explanation. "She's sitting out in her +horse-motor car, and she called me off the track to ask me to demean +myself by acting like a messenger boy. All right?" + +"All right," said Dick, running an astonished eye over the card. + +"No answer?" + +"No answer." + +"Then I'll hurry back to my embroidery. I'm several laps behind in my +work already." + +"See here, Lestrange," Dick began, as the mechanician departed, +sitting down on a railing beside a machine steadily engaged in +notching steel disks into gear-wheels. + +"Don't do that!" Lestrange exclaimed sharply. "Get up, Ffrench." + +"It's safe enough." + +"It's nothing of the kind. The least slip--" + +"Oh, well," he reluctantly rose, "if you're going to get fussy. Read +what Emily sent up." + +Lestrange accepted the card with a faint flicker of expression. + +"Dick, uncle is making the steering-knuckle wait for expert opinion," +the legend ran, in pencil. "Have Mr. Bailey strengthen Mr. Lestrange's +car, anyhow. Do not let him race so." + +Near them two men were engaged in babbitting bearings, passing +ladlefuls of molten metal carelessly back and forth, and splashing +hissing drops over the floor; at them Lestrange gazed in silence, +after reading, the card still in his hand. + +"Well?" Dick at last queried. + +"Have Mr. Bailey do nothing at all," was the deliberate reply. "There +is an etiquette of subordination, I believe--this is Mr. Ffrench's +factory. I've done my part and we'll think no more of the matter. I +may be wrong. But I am more than grateful to Miss Ffrench." + +"That's all you're going to do?" + +"Yes. I wish you would not sit there." + +"I'm tired; I won't fall in, and I want to think. We've been a lot +together this spring, Lestrange; I don't like this business about the +steering-gear. Do you go down to the Beach to-morrow?" + +"To-night. To-morrow I must put in practising on the track. I would +have been down to-day if there had not been so much to do here. Are +you coming with me, or not until the evening of the start?" + +Dick stirred uncomfortably. + +"I don't want to come at all, thank you. I saw you race once." + +"You had better get used to it," Lestrange quietly advised. "The day +may come when there is no one to take your place. This factory will be +yours and you will have to look after your own interests. I wish you +would come down and represent the company at this race." + +"I haven't the head for it." + +"I do not agree with you." + +Their eyes met in a long regard. Here, in the crowded room of workers, +the ceaseless uproar shut in their conversation with a walled +completeness of privacy. + +"I'm not sure whether you know it, Lestrange, but you've got me all +stirred up since I met you," the younger man confessed plaintively. +"You're different from other fellows and you've made me different. I'd +rather be around the factory than anywhere else I know, now. But +honestly I like you too well to watch you race." + +"I want you to come." + +"I--" + +One of the men with a vessel of white, heaving molten metal was trying +to pass through the narrow aisle. Dick broke his sentence to rise in +hasty avoidance, and his foot slipped in a puddle of oil on the floor. + +It was so brief in happening that only the workman concerned saw the +accident. As Dick fell backward, Lestrange sprang forward and caught +him, fairly snatching him from the greedy teeth. There was the rending +of fabric, a gasping sob from Dick, and reeling from the recoil, +Lestrange was sent staggering against a flying emery wheel next in +line. + +The workman set down his burden with a recklessness endangering +further trouble, active too late. + +"Mr. Lestrange!" he cried. + +But Lestrange had already recovered himself, his right arm crossed +with a scorched and bleeding bar where it had touched the glittering +wheel, and the two young men were standing opposite each other in +safety. + +"You are not hurt?" was the first question. + +"_I?_ I ought to be, but I'm not. Come to a surgeon, Lestrange--Oh, +you told me not to sit there!" + +Lestrange glanced down at the surface-wound, then quickly back at the +two pallid faces. + +"Go on to your work, Peters," he directed. "I'm all right." And as the +man slowly obeyed, "_Now_ will you take my advice and come to the race +with me, Ffrench?" + +"Race! You'd race with that arm?" + +"Yes. Are you coming with me?" + +Shaken and tremulous, Dick passed a damp hand across his forehead. + +"I think you're mad to stand talking here. Come to the office, for +heaven's sake. And, I'd be ground up there, if you hadn't caught me," +he looked toward the jaws sullenly shredding and reshredding a strip +of cloth from his sleeve. "I'll do anything you want." + +"Will you?" Lestrange flashed quickly. He flung back his head with the +resolute setting of expression the other knew so well, his eyes +brilliant with a resolve that took no heed of physical discomfort. +"Then give me your word that you'll stick to your work here. That is +my fear; that the change in you is just a mood you'll tire of some +day. I want you to stand up to your work and not drop out +disqualified." + +"I will," said Dick, subdued and earnest. "I couldn't help doing +it--your arm--" + +Lestrange impatiently dragged out his handkerchief and wound it around +the cut. + +"Go on." + +"I can't help keeping on; I couldn't go back now. You've got me awake. +No one else ever tried, and I was having a good time. It began with +liking you and thinking of all you did, and feeling funny alongside of +you." He paused, struggling with Anglo-Saxon shyness. "I'm awfully +fond of you, old fellow." + +The other's gray eyes warmed and cleared. Smiling, he held out his +left hand. + +"It's mutual," he assured. "It isn't playing the game to trap you +while you are upset like this. But I don't believe you'll be sorry. +Come find some one to tie this up for me; I can't have it stiff +to-morrow." + +But in spite of his professed haste, Lestrange stopped at the head of +the stairs and went back to recover some small object lying on the +floor beneath a pool of chilling metal. When he rejoined Dick, it was +to linger yet a moment to look back across the teeming room. + +"It's worth having, all this," he commented, with the first touch of +sadness the other ever had seen in him. "Don't throw it away, +Ffrench." + +There is usually a surgeon within reach of a factory. When Mr. Ffrench +passed out to the cart where Emily waited, he passed Dick and the +village physician entering. The elder gentleman put on his glasses to +survey his nephew's white face. + +"An accident?" he inquired. + +The casual curiosity was sufficiently exasperating, and Dick's nerves +were badly gone. + +"Nothing worth mentioning," he snapped. "Just that I nearly fell into +the machinery and Lestrange has done up his arm pulling me out. That's +all." + +And he hurried the doctor on without further parley or excuse. + +Lestrange was in the room behind the office, smoking one of Bailey's +cigars and listening to that gentleman's vigorous remarks concerning +managers who couldn't keep out of their own machinery, the patient not +having considered it worth while to explain Dick's share in the +mischance. An omission which Dick himself promptly remedied in his +anxious contrition. + +Later, when the arm was being swathed in white linen, its owner spoke +to his companion of the morning: + +"I hope you didn't annoy Miss Ffrench with this trifling matter, as +you came in." + +"I didn't speak to her at all, only to my uncle." + +"Very good." + +Something in the too-indolent tone roused Dick's usually dormant +observation. Startled, he scrutinized Lestrange. + +"Is that why you bothered yourself with me?" he stammered. "Is that +why--" + +"Shut up!" warned Lestrange forcibly and inelegantly. "That isn't +tight enough, Doc. You know I'm experienced at this sort of thing, and +I'm going to use this arm." + +But Dick was not to be silenced in his new enlightenment. When the +surgeon momentarily turned away, he leaned nearer, his plump face +grim. + +"If I brace up, it won't be for Emily, but for you, Darling +Lestrange," he whispered viciously. "She don't want me and I don't +want her, that way. I've got over that. And, and--oh, confound it, I'm +sorry, old man!" + +"Shut up!" said Lestrange again. + +But though Dick's very sympathy unconsciously showed the hopeless +chasm between the racing driver and Miss Ffrench, the hurt did not +cloud the cordial smile Lestrange sent to mitigate his command. + + + + +VI + + +Emily first heard the full story of the accident that evening, when +Dick sat opposite her on the veranda and gave the account in frank +anxiety and dejection. + +"We're going down to-night on the nine o'clock train," he added in +conclusion. "To-morrow morning he'll spend practising on the track, +and to-morrow evening at six the race starts. And Lestrange starts +crippled because I am a clumsy idiot. He laughs at me, but--he'd do +that anyhow." + +"Yes," agreed Emily. "He would do that anyhow." Her eyes were wide and +terrified, the little hands she clasped in her lap were quite cold. +"I wish, I wish he had never come to this place." + +"Oh, you do?" Dick said oddly. "Maybe he will, too, before he gets +through with us. We're a nasty lot, we Ffrenches; a lot of +blue-blooded snobs without any red blood in us. Are you going to say +good-by to me? I won't be home until it's over." + +She looked at him, across the odorous dusk slowly silvering as the +moon rose. + +"You are going to be with him?" + +Dick smoothed his leggings before standing up, surveying his strict +motor costume with a gloomy pride not to be concealed. + +"Yes; I'm representing our company. Lestrange might want some backing +if any disputes turned up. Uncle Ethan nearly had a fit when Bailey +told him what I was going to do; he called me Richard for the first +time in my life. I guess I'll be some good yet, if every one except +Lestrange did think I was a chump." + +"I am very sure you will," she answered gently. "Good-by, Dick; you +look very nice." + +When he reached the foot of the steps, her voice recalled him, as she +stood leaning over the rail. + +"Dick, you could not make him give it up, not race this time?" + +He stared up at her white figure. + +"No, I could not. Don't you suppose I tried?" + +"I suppose you did," she admitted, and went back to her seat. + +The June night was very quiet. Once a sleepy bird stirred in the +honeysuckle vines and chirped through the dark. Far below the throb +of a motor passed down the road, dying away again to leave silence. +Suddenly Emily Ffrench hid her face on the arm of her chair and the +tears overflowed. + +There was no consciousness of time while that inarticulate passion of +dread spent itself. But it was nearly half an hour later when she +started up at the echo of a light step on the gravel path, dashing her +handkerchief across her eyes. + +It was incredible, but it was true: Lestrange himself was standing +before her at the foot of the low stairs, the moonlight glinting +across his uncovered bronze head and bright, clear face. + +"I beg pardon for trespass, Miss Ffrench," he said, "but your cousin +tells me he has been saying a great deal of nonsense to you about +this race, and that you were so very good as to feel some concern +regarding it. Really, I had to run up and set that right; I couldn't +leave you to be annoyed by Mr. Ffrench's nerves. Will you forgive me?" + +Like sun through a mist his blithe voice cleaved through her distress. +Before the tranquil sanity of his regard, her painted terrors suddenly +showed as the artificial canvas scenes of a stage, unreal, untrue. + +"It was like you to come," she answered, with a shaking sigh that was +half sob. "I was frightened, yes." + +"There is no cause. A dozen other men take the same chance as Rupert +and I; the driver who alternates with me, for instance. This is our +life." + +"Your arm--" + +"Is well enough." He laughed a little. "You will see many a bandaged +arm before the twenty-four hours are up; few of us finish without a +scratch or strain or blister. This is a man's game, but it's not half +so destructive as foot-ball. You wished me good luck for the Georgia +race; will you repeat the honor before I go back to Ffrench?" + +"I wish you," she said unsteadily, "every kind of success, now and +always. You saved Dick to-day--of all else you have done for him and +for me I have not words to speak. But it made it harder to bear the +thought of your hurt and risk from the hurt, when I knew that I had +sent Dick there, who caused it." + +Lestrange hesitated, himself troubled. Her soft loveliness in the +delicate light that left her eyes unreadable depths of shadow, her +timidity and anxiety for his safety, were from their very +unconsciousness most dangerous. And while he grasped at self-control, +she came still nearer to the head of the steps and held out her small +fair hand, mistaking his silence for leave-taking. + +"Good night; and I thank you for coming. I am not used to so much +consideration." + +Her accents were unsure when she would have made them most certain, +with her movement the handkerchief fell from her girdle to his feet. +Mechanically Lestrange recovered the bit of linen, and felt it lie wet +in his fingers. Wet-- + +"Emily!" he cried abruptly, and sprang the brief step between them. + +Her white, terrified face turned to him in the moonlight, but he saw +her eyes. And seeing, he kissed her. + +The moment left no time for speech. Some one was coming down the +drawing-room toward the long windows. Dick's impatient whistle sounded +shrilly from the park. Panting, quivering, Emily drew from the embrace +and fled within. + +She had no doubt of Lestrange, no question of his serious meaning--he +had that force of sincerity which made his silence more convincing +than the protestations of others. But alone in her room she laid her +cheek against the hand his had touched. + +"I wish I had died in the convent," she cried to her heart. "I wish I +had died before I made him unhappy too." + + + + +VII + + +Morning found a pale and languid Emily across the breakfast table from +Mr. Ffrench. Yet, by a contradiction of the heart, her pride in loving +and being loved so overbore the knowledge that only sorrow could +result to herself and Lestrange, that her eyes shone wide and lustrous +and her lips curved softly. + +Mr. Ffrench was almost in high spirits. + +"The boy was merely developing," he stated, over his grape-fruit. "I +have been unjust to Richard. For two months Bailey has been talking of +his interest in the business and attendance at the factory, but I was +incredulous. Although I fancied I observed a change--have you +observed a change in him, Emily?" + +"Yes," Emily confirmed, "a very great change. He has grown up, at +last." + +"Ah? I can not express to you how it gratifies me to have a Ffrench +representing me in public; have you seen the morning journals?" + +"I have just come down-stairs." + +He picked up the newspaper beside him and passed across the folded +page. + +"_All in readiness for Beach Contest_," the head-lines ran. "_Last big +driver to arrive, Lestrange is in Mercury camp with R. Ffrench, +representative of Company._" + +And there was a blurred picture of a speeding car with driver and +mechanician masked to goblinesque non-identity, with the legend +underneath: "'_Darling' Lestrange, in his Mercury on the Georgia +course._" + +"Next year I shall make him part owner. It was always my poor +brother's desire to have the future name still Ffrench and Ffrench. He +was not thinking of Richard then; he had hope of--" + +Emily lifted her gaze from the picture, recalled to attention by the +break. + +"Of?" she echoed vaguely. + +"Of one who is unworthy thought. Richard has redeemed our family from +extinction; that is at rest." He paused for an instant. "My dear +child, when you are married and established, I shall be content." + +Her breathing quickened, her courage rose to the call of the moment. + +"If Dick is here, if he is instead of a substitute," she said, +carefully quiet in manner, "would it matter, since I am only a girl, +whom I married, Uncle Ethan?" + +The recollection of that evening when Emily had given her promise of +aid, stirred under Mr. Ffrench's self-absorbtion. He looked across the +table at her colorless, eager face with perhaps his first thought of +what that promise might have cost her. + +"No," he replied kindly. "It is part of my satisfaction that you are +set free to follow your own choice, without thought of utility or +fortune. Of course, I need not say provided the man is of your own +class and associations. We will fear no more low marriages." + +She had known it before, but it was hard to hear the sentence embodied +in words. Emily folded her hands over the paper in her lap and the +pleasant breakfast-room darkened before her. Mr. Ffrench continued +speaking of Dick, unheard. + +When the long meal was ended and her uncle withdrew to meet Bailey in +the library, Emily escaped outdoors. There was a quaint summer-house +part way down the park, an ancient white pavilion standing beside the +brook that gurgled by on its way to the Hudson, where the young girl +often passed her hours. She went there now, carrying her little +work-basket and the newspaper containing the picture of Lestrange. + +"I will save it," was her thought. "Perhaps I may find better +ones--this does not show his face--but I will have this now. It may be +a long time before I see him." + +But she sat with the embroidery scissors in her hand, nevertheless, +without cutting the reprint. Lestrange would return to the factory, +she never doubted, and all would continue as before, except that she +must not see him. He would understand that it was not possible for +anything else to happen, at least for many years. Perhaps, after Dick +was married-- + +The green and gold beauty of the morning hurt her with the memory of +that other sunny morning, when he had so easily taken from her the +task she hated and strove to bear. And he had succeeded, how he had +succeeded! Who else in the world could have so transformed Dick? +Leaning on the table, her round chin in her palm as she gazed down at +the paper in her lap, her fancy slipped back to that night on the +Long Island road, when she had first seen his serene genius for +setting all things right. How like him that elimination of Dick, +instead of a romantic and impracticable attempt to escort her himself. + +A bush crackled stiffly at some one's passage; a shadow fell across +her. + +"Caught!" laughed Lestrange's glad, exultant voice. "Since you look at +the portrait, how shall the original fear to present himself? See, I +can match." He held out a card burned at the corners and streaked with +dull red, "The first time I saw your writing, and found my own name +there." + +Amazed, Emily sat up, and met in his glowing face all incarnate joy of +life and youth. + +"Oh!" she gasped piteously. + +"You are surprised that I am here? My dear, my dear, after last night +did you think I could be anywhere else?" + +"The race--" + +"I know that track too well to need much practise, and I had the +machine out at dawn. My partner is busy practising this morning, and +I'll be back in a couple of hours. I was afraid," the gray eyes were +so gentle in their brilliancy, "I was afraid you might worry, Emily." + +Serenely he assumed possession of her, and the assumption was very +sweet. He had not touched her, yet Emily had the sensation of brutally +thrusting him away when she spoke: + +"How could I do anything else," she asked with desolation, "since we +must never meet each other any more? Only, you will not go far +away--you will stay where I can sometimes see you as we pass? I--I +think I could not bear it to have you go away." + +"Emily!" + +The scissors clinked sharply to the floor as she held out her white +hands in deprecation of his cry; the tears rushed to her eyes. + +"You know, you know! I am not free; I am Emily Ffrench. I can not fail +my uncle and grieve him as his son did. Oh, I will never marry any one +else, and we will hear of each other; I can read in the papers and +Dick will tell me of you. It will be something to be so close, down +there and up here." + +"Emily!" + +"You are not angry? You will not be angry? You know I can do nothing +else, please say you know." + +He came nearer and took both cold little hands in his clasp, bending +to her the shining gravity of his regard. + +"Did you think me such a selfish animal, my dear, that I would have +kissed you when I could not claim you?" he asked. "Did you think I +could forget you were Emily Ffrench; even by moonlight?" + +Her fair head fell back, her dark eyes questioned his. + +"You--mean--" + +"I mean that even your uncle can not deny my inherited quality of +gentleman. I am no millionaire incognito. I have driven racing cars +and managed this factory to earn my living, having no other dependence +than upon myself, but my blood is as old as yours, little girl, if +that means anything." + +"Not to me," she cried, looking up into his eyes. "Not to me, but to +him. I cared for _you_--" + +He drew her toward him, unresisting, their gaze still on each other. +As from the first, there was no shyness between them, but the strange, +exquisite understanding now made perfect. + +"I was right to come to you," he declared, after a time. "Right to +fear that you were troubled, conscientious lady. But I must go back, +or there will be a fine disturbance at the Beach. And I have shattered +my other plans to insignificant fragments, or you have. If I did not +forget by moonlight that you were Emily Ffrench, I certainly forgot +everything else." + +She looked up at him, her softly tinted face bright as his own, her +yellow hair rumpled into flossy tendrils under the black velvet +ribbon binding it. + +"Everything else?" she echoed. "Is there anything else but this?" + +"Nothing that counts, to me. You for my own, and this good world to +live in--I stand bareheaded before it all. But yet, I told you once +that I had a purpose to accomplish; a purpose now very near +completion. In a few months I meant to leave Ffrenchwood." + +Emily gave a faint cry. + +"Yes, for my work would have been done. Then I fell in love and upset +everything. When I tell Mr. Ffrench that I want you, I will have to +leave at once." + +"Why? You said--" + +"How brave are you, Emily?" he asked. "I said your uncle could not +question my name or birth, but I did not say he would want to give you +to me. Nor will he; unless I am mistaken. Are you going to be brave +enough to come to me, knowing he has no right to complain, since you +and I together have given him Dick?" + +"He does not know you; how can you tell he does not like you?" she +urged. + +"Do you think he likes 'Darling' Lestrange of the race course?" + +The sudden keen demand disconcerted her. + +"I hear a little down there," he added. "I have not been fortunate +with your kinsman. No, it is for you to say whether Ethan Ffrench's +unjust caprice is a bar between us. To me it is none." + +"I thought there was to be no more trouble," she faltered, +distressed. + +Lestrange looked down at her steadily, his gray eyes darkening to an +expression she had never seen. + +"Have I no right?" was his question. "Is there no cancelling of a +claim, is there no subsequent freedom? Is it all no use, Emily?" + +Vaguely awed and frightened, her fingers tightened on his arm in a +panic of surrender. + +"I will come to you, I will come! You know best what is right--I trust +you to tell me. Forgive me, dear, I wanted to--" + +He silenced her, all the light flashing back to his face. + +"A promise; hush! Oh, I shall win to-night with that singing in my +ears. I have more to say to you, but not now. I must see Bailey, +somehow, before I go." + +"He is at the house; let me send him here to you." + +"If you come back with him." + +They laughed together. + +"I will--Do you know," her color deepened rosily, "they all call you +'Darling'; I have never heard your own name." + +"My name is David," Lestrange said quietly, and kissed her for +farewell. + +The earth danced under Emily's feet as she ran across the lawns, the +sun glowed warm, the brook tinkled over the cascades in a very madness +of mirth. At the head of the veranda steps she turned to look once +more at the roof of the white pavilion among the locust trees. + +"Uncle will like you when he knows you," she laughed in her heart. +"Any one _must_ like you." + +The servant she met in the hall said that Mr. Bailey had gone out, and +Mr. Ffrench also, but separately, the former having taken the short +route across toward the factory. That way Emily went in pursuit, +intending to overtake him with her pony cart. + +But upon reaching the stables, past which the path ran, she found +Bailey himself engaged in an inspection of the limousine in company +with the chauffeur. + +"You'll have to look into her differential, Anderson," he was +pronouncing, when the young girl came beside him. + +"Come, please," she urged breathlessly. + +"Come?" repeated Bailey, wheeling, with his slow benevolent smile. +"Sure, Miss Emily; where?" + +She shook her head, not replying until they were safely outside; +then: + +"To Mr. Lestrange; he is in the pavilion. He wants to see you." + +"To Lestrange!" he almost shouted, halting. "Lestrange, here?" + +"Yes. There is time; he says there is time. He is going back as soon +as he sees you." + +"But what's he doing here? What does he mean by risking his neck +without any practice?" + +"He came to see me," she whispered, and stood confessed. + +"God!" said Bailey, quite reverently, after a moment of speechless +stupefaction. "You, and him!" + +She lifted confiding eyes to him, moving nearer. + +"It is a secret, but I wanted you to know because you like us both. +Dick said you loved Mr. Lestrange." + +"Yes," was the dazed assent. + +"Well, then--But come, he is waiting." + +She was sufficiently unlike the usual Miss Ffrench to bewilder any +one. Bailey dumbly followed her back across the park, carrying his hat +in his hand. + +A short distance from the pavilion Emily stopped abruptly, turning a +startled face to her companion. + +"Some one is there," she said. "Some one is speaking. I forgot that +Uncle Ethan had gone out." + +She heard Bailey catch his breath oddly. Her own pulses began to beat +with heavy irregularity, as a few steps farther brought the two +opposite the open arcade. There they halted, frozen. + +In the place Emily had left, where all her feminine toys still lay, +Mr. Ffrench was seated as one exhausted by the force of overmastering +emotion; his hands clenched on the arms of the chair, his face drawn +with passion. Opposite him stood Lestrange, colorless and still as +Emily had never conceived him, listening in absolute silence to the +bitter address pouring from the other's lips with a low-toned violence +indescribable. + +"I told you then, never again to come here," first fell upon Emily's +conscious hearing. "I supposed you were at least Ffrench enough to +take a dismissal. What do you want here, money? I warned you to live +upon the allowance sent every month to your bankers, for I would pay +no more even to escape the intolerable disgrace of your presence here. +Did you imagine me so deserted that I would accept even you as a +successor? Wrong; you are not missed. My nephew Richard takes your +place, and is fit to take it. Go back to Europe and your low-born +wife; there is no lack in my household." + +The voice broke in an excess of savage triumph, and Lestrange took the +pause without movement or gesture. + +"I am going, sir, and I shall never come back," he answered, never +more quietly. "I can take a dismissal, yes. If ever I have wished +peace or hoped for an accord that never existed between us, I go cured +of such folly. But hear this much, since I am arraigned at your bar: I +have never yet disgraced your name or mine unless by the boy's +mischief which sent me from college. The money you speak of, I have +never used; ask Bailey of it, if you will." He hesitated, and in the +empty moment there came across the mile of June air the roaring noon +whistle of the factory. Involuntarily he turned his head toward the +call, but as instantly recovered himself from the self-betrayal. +"There is another matter to be arranged, but there is no time now. Nor +even in concluding it will I come here again, sir." + +There was that in his bearing, in the dignified carefulness of +courtesy with which he saluted the other before turning to go, that +checked even Ethan Ffrench. But as Lestrange crossed the threshold of +the little building, Emily ran from the thicket to meet him, her eyes +a dark splendor in her white face, her hands outstretched. + +"Not like this!" she panted. "Not without seeing me! Oh, I might have +guessed--" + +His vivid color and animation returned as he caught her to him, +heedless of witnesses. + +"You dare? My dear, my dear, not even a question? There is no one like +you. Say, shall I take you now, or send Dick for you after the race?" + +Mr. Ffrench exclaimed some inarticulate words, but neither heard him. + +"Send Dick," Emily answered, her eyes on the gray eyes above her. +"Send Dick--I understand, I will come." + +He kissed her once, then she drew back and he went down the terraces +toward the gates. As Emily sank down on the bench by the pavilion +door, Bailey brushed past her, running after the straight, lithe +figure that went steadily on out of sight among the huge trees planted +and tended by five generations of Ffrenches. + +When the vistas of the park were empty, Emily slowly turned to face +her uncle. + +"You love David Ffrench?" he asked, his voice thin and harsh. + +"Yes," she answered. She had no need to ask if Lestrange were meant. + +"He is married to some woman of the music-halls." + +"No." + +"How do you know? He has told you?" + +She lifted to him the superb confidence of her glance, although +nervous tremors shook her in wavelike succession. + +"If he had been married, he would not have made me care for him. He +has asked me to be his wife." + +They were equally strange to each other in these new characters, and +equally spent by emotion. Neither moving, they sat opposite each other +in silence. So Bailey found them when he came back later, to take his +massive stand in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his strong +jaw set. + +"I think that things are kind of mixed up here, Mr. Ffrench," he +stated grimly. "I guess I'm the one to straighten them out a bit; I've +loved Mr. David from the time he was a kid and never saw him get a +square deal yet. You asked him what he was doing here--I'll tell you; +he is Lestrange." + +There is a degree of amazement which precludes speech; Mr. Ffrench +looked back at his partner, mute. + +"He is Lestrange. He never meant you to know; he'd have left without +your ever knowing, but for Miss Emily. I guess I don't need to remind +you of what he's done; if it hadn't been for him we might have closed +our doors some day. He understands the business as none of us +back-number, old-fashioned ones do; he took hold and shook some life +into it. We can make cars, but he can make people buy them. +Advertising! Why, just that fool picture he drew on the back of a pad, +one day, of a row of thermometers up to one hundred forty, with the +sign 'Mercuries are at the top,' made more people notice." + +Bailey cleared his throat. "He was always making people notice, and +laughing while he did it. He's risked his neck on every course going, +to bring our cars in first, he's lent his fame as a racing driver to +help us along. And now everything is fixed the way we want, he's +thrown out. What did he do it for? He thought he needed to square +accounts with you, for being born, I suppose; so when he heard how +things were going with us he came to me and offered his help. At +least, that's what he said. I believe he came because he couldn't bear +to see the place go under." + +There was a skein of blue silk swinging over the edge of the table. +Mr. Ffrench picked it up and replaced it in Emily's work-basket before +replying. + +"If this remarkable story is true," he began, accurately precise in +accent. + +"You don't need me to tell you it is," retorted Bailey. "You know what +my new manager's been doing; why, you disliked him without seeing him, +but you had to admit his good work. And I heard you talking about his +allowance, Mr. Ffrench. He never touched it, not from the first; it +piled up for six years. Last April, when we needed cash in a hurry, he +drew it out and gave it to me to buy aluminum. When he left here first +he drove a taxicab in New York City until he got into racing work and +made Darling Lestrange famous all over the continent. I guess it went +pretty hard for a while; if he'd been the things you called him, he'd +have gone to the devil alone in New York. But, he didn't." + +An oriole darted in one arcade and out again with a musical whir of +wings. The clink of glass and silver sounded from the house windows +with a pleasant cheeriness and suggestion of comfort and plenty. + +"He made good," Bailey concluded thoughtfully. "But it sounded queer +to me to hear you tell him you didn't want him around because Mr. Dick +took his place. I know, and Miss Emily knows, that Dick Ffrench was no +use on earth for any place until Mr. David took him in hand and made +him fit to live. That's all, I guess, that I had to say; I'll get back +to work." He turned, but paused to glance around. "It's going to be +pretty dull at the factory for me. And between us we've sent Lestrange +to the track with a nice set of nerves." + +His retreating footsteps died away to leave the noon hush unbroken. As +before, uncle and niece were left opposite each other, the crumpled +newspaper where Lestrange's name showed in heavy type still lying on +the floor between them. + +The effect of Bailey's final sentence had been to leave Emily dizzied +by apprehension. But when Mr. Ffrench rose and passed out, she aroused +to look up at him eagerly. + +"Uncle," she faltered. + +Disregarding or unseeing her outstretched hand, he went on and left +her there alone. And then Emily dared rescue the newspaper. + +"A substitute," she whispered. "A substitute," and laid her wet cheek +against the pictured driver. + +No one lunched at the Ffrench home that day, except the servants. Near +three o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Ffrench came back to the pavilion +where Emily still sat. + +"Go change your gown," he commanded, in his usual tone. "We will start +now. I have sent for Bailey and ordered Anderson to bring the +automobile." + +"Start?" she wondered, bewildered. + +He met her gaze with a stately repellence of comment. + +"For the Beach. I understand this race lasts twenty-four hours. Have +you any objection?" + +Objection to being near David! Emily sprang to her feet. + + + + +VIII + + +Six o'clock was the hour set for the start of the Beach race. And it +was just seventeen minutes past five when Dick Ffrench, hanging in a +frenzy of anxiety over the paddock fence circling the inside of the +mile oval, uttered something resembling a howl and rushed to the gate +to signal his recreant driver. From the opposite side of the track +Lestrange waved gay return, making his way through the officials and +friends who pressed around him to shake hands or slap his shoulder +caressingly, jesting and questioning, calling directions and advice. A +brass band played noisily in the grand-stand, where the crowd heaved +and surged; the racing machines were roaring in their camps. + +"What's the matter? Where were you?" cried Dick, when at last +Lestrange crossed the course to the central field. "The cars are going +out now for the preliminary run. Rupert's nearly crazy, snarling at +everybody, and the other man has been getting ready to start instead +of you." + +"Well, he can get unready," smiled Lestrange. "Keep cool, Ffrench; +I've got half an hour and I could start now. I'm ready." + +He was ready; clad in the close-fitting khaki costume whose immaculate +daintiness gave no hint of the certainty that before the first six +hours ended it would be a wreck of yellow dust and oil. As he paused +in running an appraising glance down the street-like row of tents, +the white-clothed driver of a spotless white car shot out on his way +to the track, but halted opposite the latest arrival to stretch down a +cordial hand. + +"I hoped a trolley-car had bitten you," he shouted. "The rest of us +would have more show if you got lost on the way, Darling." + +The boyish driver at the next tent looked up as they passed, and came +over grinning to give his clasp. + +"Get a move on; what you been doin' all day, dear child? They've been +givin' your manager sal volatile to hold him still." He nodded at the +agitated Dick in ironic commiseration. + +"Go get out your car, Darling; I want to beat you," chaffed the next +in line. + +"'Strike up the band, here comes a driver,'" sang another, with an +entrancing French accent. + +Laughing, retorting, shaking hands with each comrade rival, Lestrange +went down the row to his own tent. At his approach a swarm of +mechanics from the factory stood back from the long, low, gray car, +the driver who was to relieve him during the night and day ordeal +slipped down from the seat and unmasked. + +"He's here," announced Dick superfluously. "Rupert--where's Rupert? +Don't tell me _he's_ gone now! Lestrange--" + +But Rupert was already emerging from the tent with Lestrange's +gauntlets and cap, his expression a study in the sardonic. + +"It hurts me fierce to think how you must have hurried," he observed. +"Did you walk both ways, or only all three? I'm no Eve, but I'd give a +snake an apple to know where you've been all day." + +"Would you?" queried Lestrange provokingly, clasping the goggles +before his eyes. "Well, I've spent the last two hours on the Coney +Island beach, about three squares from here, watching the kiddies play +in the sand. I didn't feel like driving just then. It was mighty +soothing, too." + +Rupert stared at him, a dry unwilling smile slowly crinkling his dark +face. + +"Maybe, Darling," he drawled, and turned to make his own preparations. + +Fascinated and useless, Dick looked on at the methodical flurry of the +next few moments; until Lestrange was in his seat and Rupert swung in +beside him. Then a gesture summoned him to the side of the machine. + +"I'll run in again before we race, of course," said Lestrange to him, +above the deafening noise of the motor. "Be around here; I want to see +you." + +Rupert leaned out, all good-humor once more as he pointed to the +machine. + +"Got a healthy talk, what?" he exulted. + +The car darted forward. + +A long round of applause welcomed Lestrange's swooping advent on the +track. Handkerchiefs and scarfs were waved; his name passed from mouth +to mouth. + +"Popular, ain't he?" chuckled a mechanic next to Dick. "They don't +forget that Georgia trick, no, sir." + +It was not many times that the cars could circle the track. Quarter of +six blew from whistles and klaxons, signal flags sent the cars to +their camps for the last time before the race. + +"Come here," Lestrange beckoned to Dick, as he brought his machine +shuddering to a standstill before the tent. "Here, close--we've got a +moment while they fill tanks." + +He unhooked his goggles and leaned over as Dick came beside the wheel, +the face so revealed bright and quiet in the sunset glow of color. + +"One never knows what may happen," he said. "I'd rather tell you now +than chance your feeling afterward that I didn't treat you quite +squarely in keeping still. I hope you won't take it as my father did; +we've been good chums, you and I. I'm your cousin, David Ffrench." + +The moment furnished no words. Dick leaned against the car, absolutely +limp. + +"Of course, I'm not going back to Ffrenchwood. After this race I shall +go to the Duplex Company; I used to be with them and they've wanted me +back. Your company can get along without me, now all is running +well--indeed, Mr. Ffrench has dismissed me." His firm lip bent a +little more firmly. "The work I was doing is in your hands and +Bailey's; see it through. Unless you too want to break off with me, +we'll have more time to talk over this." + +"Break off!" Dick straightened his chubby figure. "Break off with you, +Les--" + +"Go on. My name is Lestrange now and always." + +A shriek from the official klaxon summoned the racers, Rupert swung +back to his seat. Dick reached up his hand to the other in the first +really dignified moment of his life. + +"I'm glad you're my kin, Lestrange," he said. "I've liked you anyhow, +but I'm glad, just the same. And I don't care what rot they say of +you. Take care of yourself." + +Lestrange bared his hand to return the clasp, his warm smile flashing +to his cousin; then the swirl of preparation swept between them and +Dick next saw him as a part of one of the throbbing, flaming row of +machines before the judges' stand. + +It was not a tranquilizing experience for an amateur to witness the +start, when the fourteen powerful cars sprang simultaneously for the +first curve, struggling for possession of the narrow track in a wheel +to wheel contest where one mistouch meant the wreck of many. After +that first view, Dick sat weakly down on an oil barrel and watched the +race in a state of fascinated endurance. + +The golden and violet sunset melted pearl-like into the black cup of +night. The glare of many searchlights made the track a glistening band +of white around which circled the cars, themselves gemmed with white +and crimson lamps. The cheers of the people as the lead was taken by +one favorite or another, the hum of voices, the music and uproar of +the machines blended into a web of sound indescribable. The spectacle +was at once ultramodern and classic in antiquity of conception. + +At eight o'clock Lestrange came flying in, sent off the track to have +a lamp relighted. + +"Water," he demanded tersely, in the sixty seconds of the stop, and +laughed openly at Dick's expression while he took the cup. + +"Why didn't you light it out there?" asked the novice, infected by the +speed fever around him. + +"Forgot our matches," Rupert flung over his shoulder, as they dashed +out again. + +An oil-smeared mechanic patronizingly explained: + +"You can't have cars manicuring all over the track and people tripping +over 'em. You get sent off to light up, and if you don't go they fine +you laps made." + +Machines darted in and out from their camps at intervals, each waking +a frenzy of excitement among its men. At ten o'clock the Mercury car +came in again, this time limping with a flat tire, to be fallen on by +its mechanics. + +"We're leading, but we'll lose by this," said Lestrange, slipping out +to relax and meditatively contemplating the alternate driver, who was +standing across the camp. "Ffrench, at twelve I'll have to come in to +rest some, and turn my machine over to the other man. And I won't have +him wrecking it for me. I want you, as owner, to give him absolute +orders to do no speeding; let him hold a fifty-two mile an hour +average until I take the wheel again." + +"Me?" + +"I can't do it. You, of course." + +"You could," Dick answered. "I've been thinking how you and I will +run that factory together. It's all stuff about your going away; why +should you? You and your father take me as junior partner; you know +I'm not big enough for anything else." + +"You're man's size," Lestrange assured, a hand on his shoulder. +"But--it won't do. I'll not forget the offer, though, never." + +"All on!" a dozen voices signaled; men scattered in every direction as +Lestrange sprang to his place. + +The hours passed on the wheels of excitement and suspense. When +Lestrange came in again, only a watch convinced Dick that it was +midnight. + +"You gave the order?" Lestrange asked. + +"Yes." + +He descended, taking off his mask and showing a face white with +fatigue under the streaks of dust and grime. + +"I'll be all right in half an hour," he nodded, in answer to Dick's +exclamation. "Send one of the boys for coffee, will you, please? +Rupert needs some, too. Here, one of you others, ask one of those idle +doctor's apprentices to come over with a fresh bandage; my arm's a +trifle untidy." + +In fact, his right sleeve was wet and red, where the strain of driving +had reopened the injury of the day before. But he would not allow Dick +to speak of it. + +"I'm going to spend an hour or two resting. Come in, Ffrench, and +we'll chat in the intervals, if you like." + +"And Rupert? Where's he?" Dick wondered, peering into the dark with a +vague impression of lurking dangers on every side. + +"He's hurried in out of the night air," reassured familiar accents; a +small figure lounged across into the light, making vigorous use of a +dripping towel. "Tell Darling I feel faint and I'm going over to that +grand-stand café _a la_ car to get some pie. I'll be back in time to +read over my last lesson from the chauffeurs' correspondence school. +Oh, see what's here!" + +A telegraph messenger boy had come up to Dick. + +"Richard Ffrench?" he verified. "Sign, please." + +The message was from New York. + +"All coming down," Dick read. "Limousine making delay. Wire me St. +Royal of race. Bailey." + +Far from pleased, young Ffrench hurriedly wrote the desired answer and +gave it to the boy to be sent. But he thrust the yellow envelope into +his pocket before turning to the tent where Lestrange was drinking +cheap black coffee while an impatient young surgeon hovered near. + +The hour's rest was characteristically spent. Washed, bandaged, and +refreshed, Lestrange dropped on a cot in the back of the tent and +pushed a roll of motor garments beneath his head for a pillow. There +he intermittently spoke to his companion of whatever the moment +suggested; listening to every sound of the race and interspersing +acute comment, starting up whenever the voice of his own machine +hinted that the driver was disobeying instructions or the shrill +klaxon gave warning of trouble. But through it all Dick gathered much +of the family story. + +"My mother was a Californian," Lestrange once said, coming back from a +tour of inspection. "She was twenty times as much alive as any Ffrench +that ever existed, I've been told. I fancy she passed that quality on +to me--you know she died when I was born--for I nearly drove the +family mad. They expected the worst of me, and I gave the best worst I +had. But," he turned to Dick the clear candor of his smile, "it was +rather a decent worst, I honestly believe. The most outrageous thing I +ever did was to lead a set of seniors in hoisting a cow into the +Dean's library, one night, and so get myself expelled from college." + +"A cow?" the other echoed. + +"A fat cow, and it mooed," he stuffed the pillow into a more +comfortable position. "Is that our car running in? No, it's just +passing. If Frank doesn't wreck my machine, I'll get this race. And +then, the same week, my chum and room-mate ran away with a Doraflora +girl of some variety show and married her. I was romantic myself at +twenty-one, so I helped him through with it. He was wealthy and she +was pretty; it seemed to fit. I believe they've stayed married ever +since, by the way. But somehow the reporters got affairs mixed and +published me as the bridegroom. Have you got a cigar? I smoke about +three times a year, and this is one of them. Yes, there was a fine +scene when I went home that night, a Broadway melodrama. I lost my +temper easier then; by the time my father and uncle gave me time to +speak, I was too angry to defend myself and set them right. I supposed +they would learn the truth by the next day, anyhow. And I left home +for good in a dinner-coat and raglan, with something under ten dollars +in odd change. What's that!" + +"That" was the harsh alarm of the official klaxon, coupled with the +cry of countless voices. The ambulance gong clanged as Lestrange +sprang to his feet and reached the door. + +"Which car?" he called. + +Rupert answered first: + +"Not ours. Number eight's burning up after a smash on the far turn." + +"Jack's car," identified Lestrange, and stood for an instant. "Go flag +Frank; I'll take the machine again myself. It's one o'clock, and I've +got to win this race." + +Several men ran across to the track in compliance. Lestrange turned to +make ready, but paused beside the awed Dick to look over the infield +toward the flaming blotch against the dark sky. + +"He was in to change a tire ten minutes ago," observed Rupert, beside +them. "'Tell Lestrange I'm doin' time catchin' him,' he yelled to me. +Here's hoping his broncho machine pitched him clear from the +fireworks." + +When the Mercury car swung in, a few moments later, Lestrange lingered +for a last word to Dick. + +"I'm engaged to Emily," he said gravely. "I don't know what she will +hear of me; if anything happens, I've told you the truth. I'm old +enough to see it now. And I tried to square things." + + + + +IX + + +In the delicate, fresh June dawn, the Ffrench limousine crept into the +Beach inclosure. + +"We're here," said Bailey, to his traveling companions. "You can't +park the car front by the fence; Mr. David might see you and kill +himself by a misturn. Come up to the grand-stand seats." + +Mr. Ffrench got out in silence and assisted Emily to descend; a pale +and wide-eyed Emily behind her veil. + +"The boys were calling extras," she suggested faintly. "They said +three accidents on the track." + +Bailey turned to a blue and gold official passing. + +"Number seven all right?" he asked. + +"On the track, Lestrange driving," was the prompt response. "Leading +by thirty-two miles." + +A little of Emily's color rushed back. Satisfied, Bailey led the way +to the tiers of seats, almost empty at this hour. Pearly, +unsubstantial in the young light, lay the huge oval meadow and the +track edging it. Of the fourteen cars starting, nine were still +circling their course, one temporarily in its camp for supplies. + +"I've sent over for Mr. Dick," Bailey informed the other two. "He's +been here, and he can tell what's doing. Four cars are out of the +race. There's Mr. David, coming!" + +A gray machine shot around the west curve, hurtled roaring down the +straight stretch past the stand and crossed before them, the +mechanician rising in his seat to catch the pendant linen streamers +and wipe the dust from the driver's goggles in preparation for the +"death turn" ahead. There was a series of rapid explosions as the +driver shut off his motor, the machine swerved almost facing the +infield fence and slid around the bend with a skidding lurch that +threw a cloud of soil high in the air. Emily cried out, Mr. Ffrench +half rose in his place. + +"What's the matter?" dryly queried Bailey. "He's been doing that all +night; and a mighty pretty turn he makes, too. He's been doing it for +about five years, in fact, to earn his living, only we didn't see him. +Here goes another." + +Mr. Ffrench put on his pince-nez, preserving the dignity of outward +composure. Emily saw and heard nothing; she was following Lestrange +around the far sides of the course, around until again he flashed +past her, repeating his former feat with appalling exactitude. + +It was hardly more than five minutes before Dick came hurrying toward +them; cross, tired, dust-streaked and gasolene-scented. + +"I don't see why you wanted to come," he began, before he reached +them. "I'm busy enough now. We're leading; if Lestrange holds out +we'll win. But he's driving alone; Frank went out an hour ago, on the +second relief, when he went through the paddock fence and broke his +leg. It didn't hurt the machine a bit, except tires, but it lost us +twenty-six laps. And it leaves Lestrange with thirteen steady hours at +the wheel. He says he can do it." + +"He's fit?" Bailey questioned. + +Dick turned a peevish regard upon him. + +"I don't know what you call fit. He says he is. His hands are +blistered already, his right arm has been bandaged twice where he hurt +it pulling me away from the gear-cutter yesterday, and he's had three +hours' rest out of the last eleven. See that heap of junk over there; +that's where the Alan car burned up last night and sent its driver and +mechanician to the hospital. I suppose if Lestrange isn't fit and +makes a miscue we'll see something like that happen to him and +Rupert." + +"No!" Emily cried piteously. + +Remorse clutched Dick. + +"I forgot you, cousin," he apologized. "Don't go off; Lestrange swears +he feels fine and gibes at me for worrying. Don't look like that." + +"Richard, you will go down and order our car withdrawn from the race," +Mr. Ffrench stated, with his most absolute finality. "This has +continued long enough. If we had not been arrested in New York for +exceeding the speed limit, I should have been here to end this scene +at midnight." + +Stunned, his nephew stared at him. + +"Withdraw!" + +"Precisely. And desire David to come here." + +"I won't," said Dick flatly. "If you want to rub it into Lestrange +that way, send Bailey. And I say it's a confounded shame." + +"Richard!" + +His round face ablaze, Dick thrust his hands in his pockets, facing +his uncle stubbornly. + +"After his splendid fight, to stop him now? Do you know how they take +being put out, those fellows? Why, when the Italian car went off the +track for good, last night, with its chain tangled up with everything +underneath, its driver sat down and cried. And you'd come down on +Lestrange when he's winning--I won't do it, I won't! Send Bailey; I +can't tell him." + +"If you want to discredit the car and its driver, Mr. Ffrench, you can +do it without me," slowly added Bailey. "But it won't be any use to +send for Mr. David, because he won't come." + +The autocrat of his little world looked from one rebel to the other, +confronted with the unprecedented. + +"If I wish to withdraw him, it is to place him out of danger," he +retorted with asperity. "Not because I wish to mortify him, +naturally. Is that clear? Does he want to pass the next thirteen hours +under this ordeal?" + +"I'll tell you what he wants," answered Dick. "He wants to be let +alone. It seems to me he's earned that." + +Ethan Ffrench opened his lips, and closed them again without speech. +It had not been his life's habit to let people alone and the art was +acquired with difficulty. + +"I admit I do not comprehend the feelings you describe," he conceded, +at last. "But there is one person who has the right to decide whether +David shall continue this risk of his life. Emily, do you wish the car +withdrawn?" + +There was a gasp from the other two men. + +"I?" the young girl exclaimed, amazed. "I can call him here--safe--" + +Her voice died out as Lestrange's car roared past, overtaking two +rivals on the turn and sliding between them with an audacity that +provoked rounds of applause from the spectators. To call him in from +that, to have him safe with her--the mere thought was a delight that +caught her breath. Yet, she knew Lestrange. + +The three men watched her in keen suspense. The Mercury car had passed +twice again before she raised her head, and in that space of a hundred +seconds Emily reached the final unselfishness. + +"What David wants," she said. "Uncle, what David wants." + +"You're a brick!" cried Dick, in a passion of relief. "Emily, you're a +brick!" + +She looked at him with eyes he never forgot. + +"If anything happens to him, I hope I die too," she answered, and drew +the silk veil across her face. + +"Go back, Mr. Dick, you're no good here," advised Bailey, in the +pause. "I guess Miss Emily is right, Mr. Ffrench; we've got nothing to +do but look on, for David Ffrench was wiped out to make Darling +Lestrange." + +Having left the decision to Emily, it was in character that her uncle +offered no remonstrance when she disappointed his wish. Nor did he +reply to Bailey's reminder of who had sent David Ffrench to the track. +But he did adopt the suggestion to look on, and there was sufficient +to see. + +When Lestrange came into his camp for oil and gasolene, near eight +o'clock, Dick seized the brief halt, the first in three hours. + +"Emily's up in the stand," he announced. "Send her a word, old man; +and don't get reckless in front of her." + +"Emily?" echoed Lestrange, too weary for astonishment. "Give me a +pencil. No, I can't take off my gauntlet; it's glued fast. I'll +manage. Rupert, go take an hour's rest and send me the other +mechanician." + +"I can't get off my car; it's glued fast," Rupert confided, leaning +over the back of the machine to appropriate a sandwich from the basket +a man was carrying to the neighboring camp. "Go on with your +correspondence, dearest." + +So resting the card Dick supplied on the steering-wheel, Lestrange +wrote a difficult two lines. + +He was out again on the track when Dick brought the message to Emily. + +"I just told him you were here, cousin," he whispered at her ear, and +dropped the card in her lap. + + "I'll enjoy this more than ever, with you here," she read. + "It's the right place for my girl. I'll give you the cup for + our first dinner table, to-night. + + "DAVID." + +Emily lifted her face. The tragedy of the scene was gone, Lestrange's +eyes laughed at her out of a mist. The sky was blue, the sunshine +golden; the merry crowds commencing to pour in woke carnival in her +heart. + +"He said to tell you the machine was running magnificently," +supplemented Dick, "and not to insult his veteran reputation by +getting nervous. He's coming by--look." + +He was coming by; and, although unable to look toward the grand-stand, +he raised his hand in salute as he passed, to the one he knew was +watching. Emily flushed rosily, her dark eyes warm and shining. + +"I can wait," she sighed gratefully. "Dickie, I can wait until it +ends, now." + +Dick went back. + +The hours passed. One more car went out of the race under the grinding +test; there were the usual incidents of blown-out tires and temporary +withdrawals for repairs. Twice Mr. Ffrench sent his partner and Emily +to the restaurant below, tolerating no protests, but he himself never +left his seat. Perfectly composed, his expression perfectly +self-contained, he watched his son. + +The day grew unbearably hot toward afternoon, a heat rather of July +than June. After a visit to his camp Lestrange reappeared without the +suffocating mask and cap, driving bareheaded, with only the narrow +goggles crossing his face. The change left visible the drawn pallor of +exhaustion under stains of dust and oil, his rolled-back sleeves +disclosed the crimson bandage on his right arm and the fact that his +left wrist was tightly wound with linen where swollen and strained +muscles rebelled at the long trial. + +"He's been driving for nineteen hours," said Dick, climbing up to his +party through the excited crowd. "Two hours more to six o'clock. +Listen to the mob when he passes!" + +The injunction was unnecessary. As the sun slanted low the enthusiasm +grew to fever. This was a crowd of connoisseurs--motorists, +chauffeurs, automobile lovers and drivers--they knew what was being +done before them. The word passed that Lestrange was in his twentieth +hour; people climbed on seats to cheer him as he went by. When one of +his tires blew out, in the opening of the twenty-first hour of his +driving and the twenty-fourth of the race, the great shout of sympathy +and encouragement that went up shook the grand-stand to its cement +foundations. + +Neither Lestrange nor Rupert left his seat while that tire was +changed. + +"If we did I ain't sure we'd get back," Rupert explained to Dick, who +hovered around them agitatedly. "If I'd thought Darling's mechanician +would get in for this, I'd have taken in sewing for a living. How much +longer?" + +"Half an hour." + +"Well, watch us finish." + +A renewed burst of applause greeted the Mercury car's return to the +track. Men were standing watch in hand to count the last moments, +their eyes on the bulletin board where the reeled-off miles were being +registered. Two of the other machines were fighting desperately for +second place, hopeless of rivaling Lestrange, and after them sped the +rest. + +"The finish!" some one suddenly called. "The last lap!" + +Dick was hanging over the paddock fence when the car shot by amidst +braying klaxons, motor horns, cheers, and the clashing music of the +band. Frantic, the people hailed Lestrange as the black and white +checked flag dropped before him in proclamation of his victory and the +ended race. + +Rupert raised his arms above his head in the signal of acknowledgment, +as they flew across the line and swept on to complete the circle to +their camp. Lestrange slackened speed to take the dangerous, deeply +furrowed turn for the last time, his car poised for the curving flight +under his guidance--then the watching hundreds saw the driver's hands +slip from the steering-wheel as he reached for the brake. Straight +across the track the machine dashed, instead of following the bend, +crashed through the barrier, and rolled over on its side in the green +meadow grass. + +"The steering-knuckle!" Bailey groaned, as the place burst into uproar +around them. "The wheel--I saw it turn uselessly in his hands!" + +"They're up!" cried a dozen voices. "No, one's up and one's under." +"Who's caught in the wreck--Lestrange or his man?" + +But before the people who surged over the track, breaking all +restraint, before the electric ambulance, Dick Ffrench reached the +marred thing that had been the Mercury car. It was Lestrange who had +painfully struggled to one knee beside the machine, fighting hard for +breath to speak. + +"Take the car off Rupert," he panted, at Dick's cry of relief on +seeing him. "I'm all right--take the car off Rupert." + +The next instant they were surrounded, overwhelmed with eager aid. The +ambulance came up and a surgeon precipitated himself toward Lestrange. + +"Stand back," the surgeon commanded generally. "Are you trying to +smother him? Stand back." + +But it was he who halted before a gesture from Lestrange, who leaned +on Dick and a comrade from the camp. + +"Go over there, to Rupert." + +"You first--" + +"No." + +There was nothing to do except yield. Shrugging his shoulders, the +surgeon paused the necessary moment. A moment only; there was a +scattering of the hushed workers, a metallic crash. + +From the space the car had covered a small figure uncoiled, +lizardlike, and staggered unsteadily erect. + +"Where's Darling Lestrange?" was hurled viciously across the silence. +"Gee, you're a slow bunch of workers! Where's Lestrange?" + +The tumult that broke loose swept all to confusion. And after all it +was Lestrange who was put in the surgeon's care, while Rupert rode +back to the camp on the driver's seat of the ambulance. + +"Tell Emily I'll come over to her as soon as I'm fit to look at," was +the message Lestrange gave Dick. "And when you go back to the factory, +have your steering-knuckles strengthened." + +Dick exceeded his commission by transmitting the speech entire; +repeating the first part to Emily with all affectionate solicitude, +and flinging the second cuttingly at his uncle and Bailey. + +"The doctors say he ought to be in bed, but he won't go," he +concluded. "No, you can't see him until they get through patching him +up at the hospital tent; they put every one out except Rupert. _He_ +hasn't a scratch, after having a ninety Mercury on top of him. You're +to come over to our camp, Emily, and wait for Lestrange. I suppose +everybody had better come." + +It was a curious and an elevating thing to see Dickie assume command +of his family, but no one demurred. An official, recognizing in him +Lestrange's manager, cleared a way for the party through the noisy +press of departing people and automobiles. The very track was blocked +by a crowd too great for control. + +The sunset had long faded, night had settled over the motordrome and +the electric lamps had been lit in the tents, before there came a stir +and murmur in the Mercury camp. + +"Don't skid, the ground's wet," cautioned a voice outside the door. +"Steady!" + +Emily started up, Dick sprang to open the canvas, and Lestrange +crossed the threshold. Lestrange, colorless, his right arm in a sling, +his left wound with linen from wrist to elbow, and bearing a heavy +purple bruise above his temple, but with the brightness of victory +flashing above all weariness like a dancing flame. + +"Sweetheart!" he laughed, as Emily ran to meet him, heedless of all +things except that he stood within touch once more. "My dear, I told +them not to frighten you. Why, Emily--" + +For as he put his one available arm about her, she hid her wet eyes on +his shoulder. + +"I am so happy," she explained breathlessly. "It is only that." + +"You should not have been here at all, my dear. But it is good to see +you. Who brought you? Bailey?" catching sight of the man beside Dick. +"Good, I wanted some one to help me; Rupert and I have got to find a +hotel and we're not very active." + +Emily would have slipped away from the clasp, scarlet with returning +recollection, but Lestrange detained her to meet his shining eyes. + +"The race is over," he reminded, for her ears alone. "I'm going to +keep you, if you'll stay." + +He turned to take a limping step, offering his hand cordially to the +speechless Bailey, and faced for the first time the other man present. + +"I think," said Ethan Ffrench, "that there need be no question of +hotels. We have not understood each other, but you have the right to +Ffrenchwood's hospitality. If you can travel, we will go there." + +"No," answered David Ffrench, as quietly. "Never. You owe me nothing, +sir. If I have worked in your factory, I took the workman's wages for +it; if I have won honors for your car, I also won the prize-money +given to the driver. I never meant so to establish any claim upon +Ffrenchwood or you. I believe we stand even. Dick has taken my place, +happily; Emily and I will go on our own road." + +They looked at each other, the likeness between them most apparent, in +the similar determination of mood which wiped laughter and warmth from +the younger man's face. However coldly phrased and dictatorially +spoken, it was an apology which Mr. Ffrench had offered and which had +been declined. But--he had watched Lestrange all day; he did not lift +the gauntlet. + +"You are perfectly free," he conceded, "which gives you the +opportunity of being generous." + +His son moved, flushing through his pallor. + +"I wish you would not put it that way, sir," he objected. + +"There is no other way. I have been wrong and I have no control over +you; will you come home?" + +There was no other argument but that that could have succeeded, and +the three who knew Lestrange knew that could not fail. + +"You want me because I am a Ffrench," David rebelled in the final +protest. "You have a substitute." + +"Perhaps I want you otherwise. And we will not speak in passion; there +can be no substitute for you." + +"Ffrench and Ffrench," murmured Dick coaxingly. "We can run that +factory, Lestrange!" + +"There's more than steering-knuckles needing your eye on them. And you +love the place, Mr. David," said Bailey from his corner. + +From one to the other David's glance went, to rest on Emily's +delicate, earnest face in its setting of yellow-bronze curls. Full and +straight her dark eyes answered his, the convent-bred Emily's answer +to his pride and old resentment and new reluctance to yield his +liberty. + +"After all, you were born a Ffrench," she reminded, her soft accents +just audible. "If that is your work?" + +Very slowly David turned to his father. + +"I never learned to do things by halves," he said. "If you want me, +sir--" + +And Ethan Ffrench understood, and first offered his hand. + +Rupert was discovered asleep in a camp-chair outside the tent, a few +minutes later, when Dick went in search of him. + +"The limousine's waiting," his awakener informed him. "You don't feel +bad, do you?" + +The mechanician rose cautiously, wincing. + +"Well, if every joint in my chassis wasn't sore, I'd feel better," he +admitted grimly. "But I'm still running. What did you kiss me awake +for, when I need my sleeps?" + +"Did you suppose we could get Lestrange home without you, Jack +Rupert?" + +"I ain't supposing you could. I'm ready." + +The rest of the party were already in the big car, with one exception. + +"Take a last look, Rupert," bade David, as he stood in the dark +paddock. "We're retired; come help me get used to it." + +Rupert passed a glance over the deserted track. + +"I guess my sentiment-tank has given out," he sweetly acknowledged. +"The Mercury factory sounds pretty good to me, Darling. And I guess we +can make a joy ride out of living, on any track, if we enter for it." + +"I guess we can," laughed David Ffrench. "Get in opposite Emily. We're +going home to try." + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Mercury, by Eleanor M. 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Ingram + +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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flying Mercury + +Author: Eleanor M. Ingram + +Illustrator: Edmund Frederick + Bertha Stuart + +Release Date: June 19, 2009 [EBook #29166] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLYING MERCURY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_006.jpg" width="500" height="396" alt="" /></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_001.jpg" width="500" height="734" alt="THE FLYING MERCURY" /> +<span class="caption">THE FLYING MERCURY</span> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/title_page.jpg" width="500" height="798" alt="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE<br /> +FLYING<br /> +MERCURY</h1> + +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>ELEANOR M INGRAM</h2> + + +<h5>Author of</h5> +<h4>THE GAME AND THE CANDLE</h4> +<p> </p> +<h3>With Illustrations by</h3> +<h2>EDMUND FREDERICK</h2> +<p> </p> +<h3>Decorations by</h3> +<h2>BERTHA STUART</h2> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>INDIANAPOLIS</h3> +<h3>THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY</h3> +<h3>PUBLISHERS</h3> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h5><span class="smcap">Copyright</span> 1910</h5> +<h5><span class="smcap">The Bobbs-Merrill Company</span></h5> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_004.jpg" width="500" height="642" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4><i>To</i></h4> +<h3>MY MOST DELIGHTFUL COMRADES AND<br /> + INDULGENT MOTOR INSTRUCTORS<br /> + —MY TWO BROTHERS</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/image_006.jpg" width="500" height="396" alt="" /> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/image_005.jpg" width="600" height="88" alt="THE FLYING MERCURY" /> +</div> +<h2>I</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> +<p>he roaring reports of the motor fell into abrupt silence, as the +driver brought his car to a halt.</p> + +<p>"You signaled?" he called across the grind of set brakes.</p> + +<p>In the blending glare of the searchlights from the two machines, the +gray one arriving and the limousine drawn to the roadside, the young +girl stood, her hand still extended in the gesture which had stopped +the man who now leaned across his wheel.</p> + +<p>"Oh, please," she appealed again.</p> + +<p>On either side stretched away the Long Island meadows, dark, +soundless, appar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>ently uninhabited. Only this spot of light broke the +monotony of dreariness. A keen, chill, October wind sighed past, +stirring the girl's delicate gown as its folds lay unheeded in the +dust, fluttering her fur-lined cloak and shaking two or three childish +curls from the bondage of her velvet hood. The driver swung himself +down and came toward her with the unhasting swiftness of one trained +to the unexpected.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon—can I be of some use?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"We are lost," she confessed hurriedly. "If you could set us right, I +should be grateful. I—we must get home soon. I have been a guest at a +house somewhere here, and started to return to New York this +afternoon. The chauffeur does not know Long Island; we can not seem +to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> find any place. And now we have lost a tire. I was afraid—"</p> + +<p>She broke off abruptly, as her companion descended from the limousine.</p> + +<p>"We only want to know the way; we're all right," he explained. "This +is my cousin; I came out after her, you see. Don't get so worried, +Emily—we'll go straight on as soon as Anderson changes the tire."</p> + +<p>He huddled his words slightly and spoke too rapidly, the round, +good-humored face he turned to the white light was too flushed; +otherwise there was nothing unusual in his appearance. And his caste +was evident and unquestionable, in spite of any circumstance. There +was no anger in the girl's dark eyes as she gazed straight before her, +only pity and helpless distress.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can tell your chauffeur the road," the driver of the gray car +quietly said. "Have you far to go?"</p> + +<p>"To the St. Royal," she answered, looking at him. "My uncle is there. +Is that far?"</p> + +<p>"No; you can reach there by ten o'clock. I will speak to your +chauffeur."</p> + +<p>"Do, like a good fellow," the other man interposed. "Awfully obliged. +You're not angry, Emily," he added, lowering his voice, and moving +nearer her. "Since we're engaged, why should you get frightened simply +because I proposed we get married to-night instead of waiting for a +big wedding? I thought it was a good idea, you know. It isn't my fault +Anderson got lost instead of getting us home for dinner, is it?"</p> + +<p>"Hush, Dick," she rebuked, hot color<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> sweeping her face. "You, you are +not well. And we are not engaged; you forget. Just because people want +us to be—" Too proud to let her steadiness quiver, she broke the +sentence.</p> + +<p>If the driver had heard, and it was scarcely possible that he had not, +he made no sign. By the acetylene light he produced an envelope and +pencil, and proceeded to sketch a map, showing the route to the +limousine's chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"Understand it?" he queried, concluding. He had a certain decision of +manner, not in the least arrogant, but the result of a serene +self-surety that somehow accorded with his lithe, trained grace of +movement. A judge of men would have read him an athlete, perhaps in an +unusual line.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," the chauffeur replied. "I'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> get Miss Ffrench home in no +time after I get the tire on."</p> + +<p>The indiscretion of the spoken name was ignored, except for a slight +lift of the hearer's eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"How long does it take you to change a tire?"</p> + +<p>"About half an hour; it's night, of course."</p> + +<p>An odd, choking gurgle sounded from the gray machine, where a dark +figure had sat until now in quiescent muteness.</p> + +<p>"Half an hour!" echoed the gray machine's driver, and faced toward the +chuckle. "Rupert, it isn't in your contract, but do you want to come +over and change this tire?"</p> + +<p>"I'll do it for you, Darling," was the sweet response; the small +figure rolled over the edge of the car with a cat-like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> celerity. +"Where are your tools, you chauffeur? Quick!"</p> + +<p>The bewildered chauffeur mechanically reached for a box on the +running-board, as the young assistant came up, grinning all over his +malign dark face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, quicker! What's the matter, rheumatism? They wouldn't have you in +a training camp for motor trucks on Sunday. Hustle, <i>please</i>."</p> + +<p>There never had been anything done to that sedate limousine quite as +this was done. Even the preoccupied girl looked on in fascination at a +rapidity of unwasted movement suggesting a conjuring feat.</p> + +<p>"By George!" exclaimed her escort. "A splendid man you've got there! +Really, a splendid chauffeur, you know."</p> + +<p>The driver smiled with a gleam of irony, but disregarded the comment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Would you like to get into your car?" he asked the girl. "You will be +able to start very soon."</p> + +<p>"I see that," she acknowledged gratefully. "Thank you; I would rather +wait here."</p> + +<p>"Is your chauffeur trustworthy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; he has been in my uncle's employ for three years. But he was +never before out here, in this place."</p> + +<p>There was a pause, filled by the soft monotone of insults drifting +from the side of the limousine, for Rupert talked while he worked and +his fellow-worker did not please him.</p> + +<p>"Wrench, baby hippo! Oh, look behind you where you put it—you need a +memory course. You ought to be passing spools to a lady with a +sewing-machine. Did you ever see a motor-car be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>fore? There, pump her +up, do." He rose, drew out his watch and glanced at it. "Five minutes; +I'll have to beat that day after to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The driver looked over at him and their eyes laughed together. Now, +for the first time, the girl noticed that across the shoulders of both +men's jerseys ran in silver letters the name of a famous foreign +automobile.</p> + +<p>"I am very grateful, indeed," she said bravely and graciously. "I wish +I could say more, or say it better. The journey will be short, now."</p> + +<p>But all her dignity could not check the frightened shrinking of her +glance, first toward the interior of the limousine and then toward the +man who was to enter there with her. And the driver of the gray +machine saw it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We have done very little," he returned. "May I put you in your car?"</p> + +<p>The chauffeur was gathering his tools, speechlessly outraged, and +making ready to start. Seated among the rugs and cushions, under the +light of the luxurious car, the girl deliberately drew off her glove +and held out her small uncovered hand to the driver of the gray +machine.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said again, meeting his eyes with her own, whose +darkness contrasted oddly with the blonde curls clustered under her +hood.</p> + +<p>"You are not afraid to drive into the city alone?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Alone! Why, my cousin—"</p> + +<p>"Your cousin is going to stay with me."</p> + +<p>She flung back her head; amazement, question, relief struggled over +her sensi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>tive face, and finally melted into irrepressible mirth under +the fine amusement of his regard.</p> + +<p>"You are clever—and kind, to do that! No, I am not afraid."</p> + +<p>He closed the door.</p> + +<p>"Take your mistress home," he bade the chauffeur. "Crank for him, +Rupert."</p> + +<p>"Why, why—" stammered the limousine's other passenger, turning as the +motor started.</p> + +<p>No one heeded him.</p> + +<p>"By-by, don't break any records," Rupert called after the chauffeur. +"Hold yourself in, do. If you shed any more tires, telegraph for me, +and if I'm within a day's run I'll come put them on for you and save +you time."</p> + +<p>Silence closed in again, as the red tail-light vanished around a bend. +The gray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> car's driver nodded curtly to the stupefied youth in the +middle of the road.</p> + +<p>"Unless you want to stay here all night, you'd better get in the +machine," he suggested. "My name's Lestrange—I suppose yours is +Ffrench?"</p> + +<p>"Dick Ffrench. But, see here, you mean well, but I'm going with my +cousin. I'd like a drive with you, but I'm busy."</p> + +<p>"You're not fit to go with your cousin."</p> + +<p>"Not—"</p> + +<p>"Fit," completed Lestrange definitely. "Can you hang on somewhere, +Rupert?"</p> + +<p>"I can," Rupert assured, with an inflection of his own. "Get your +friend aboard."</p> + +<p>Lestrange was already in his seat, waiting.</p> + +<p>"What's that for?" asked the dazed guest, as, on taking his place, a +strap was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> slipped around his waist, securing him to the seat.</p> + +<p>"So you won't fall out," soothed the grinning Rupert. "You ain't well, +you know. Not that I'd care if you did, but somebody might blame +Darling."</p> + +<p>The car leaped forward, gathering speed to an extent that was a +revelation in motoring to Ffrench. The keen air, the giddy rush +through the dark, were a sobering tonic. After a while he spoke to the +man beside him, nervously embarrassed by a situation he was beginning +to appreciate.</p> + +<p>"This is a racing car?"</p> + +<p>"It was."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it now?"</p> + +<p>"If I were going to race it day after to-morrow, I wouldn't be risking +it over a country road to-night. A racing machine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> is petted like a +race-horse until it is wanted."</p> + +<p>"And then?"</p> + +<p>"It takes its chances. If you are connected with the Ffrenches who +manufacture the Mercury car, you should know something of automobile +racing yourself. I noticed your limousine was of that make."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is my uncle's company. I did see a race once at Coney +Island. A car turned over and killed its driver and made a nasty muss. +I—I didn't fancy it."</p> + +<p>A wheel slipped off a stone, giving the car a swerving lurch which was +as instantly corrected—with a second lurch—by its pilot. The effect +was not tranquilizing; the shock swept the last confusion from +Ffrench's brain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where are you taking me?" he presently asked.</p> + +<p>"Where do you want to go? I will set you down at the next village we +come to; you can stay there to-night or you can get a trolley to the +city."</p> + +<p>The question remained unanswered. Several times Ffrench glanced, +rather diffidently, at his companion's clear, firm profile, and looked +away again without speaking.</p> + +<p>"I went out to get my cousin to-day, and my host gave me a couple of +highballs," he volunteered, at last. "I don't know what you thought—"</p> + +<p>Lestrange twisted his car around a belated farm-wagon.</p> + +<p>"How old are you?" he inquired calmly.</p> + +<p>"Twenty-three."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm nearly twenty-seven. That's what I thought."</p> + +<p>The simpler mind considered this for a space.</p> + +<p>"Some men are born awake, some awake themselves, and some are shaken +into awakening," paraphrased Lestrange, in addition. "If I were you, +I'd wake up; it comes easier and it's sure to arrive anyhow. There is +the village ahead—shall I stop?"</p> + +<p>"It looks terribly dull," was the doleful verdict.</p> + +<p>"Then come with me," flashed the other unexpectedly; for a fractional +instant his eyes left the road and turned to his companion's face. +"Did you ever see race practice at dawn? Come try a night in a +training camp."</p> + +<p>"You'd bother with me?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A head bobbed up by Ffrench's knee, where Rupert was clinging in some +inexplicable fashion.</p> + +<p>"Once I rode eight miles out there by the hood, head downward, holding +in a pin," he imparted, by way of entertainment.</p> + +<p>Ffrench stared at the reeling perch indicated, and gasped.</p> + +<p>"What for?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"So we could keep on to our control instead of being put out of the +running, of course. Did you guess I was curing a headache?"</p> + +<p>"But you might have been killed!" exclaimed Ffrench.</p> + +<p>Even by the semi-light of the lamps there was visible the +mechanician's droll twist of lip and brow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd drive to hell with Lestrange," he explained sweetly, and settled +back in his place.</p> + +<p>Ffrench drew a long breath. After a moment he again looked at the +driver.</p> + +<p>"I'll come," he accepted. "And, thank you."</p> + +<p>It was Lestrange who smiled this time, with a sudden and enchanting +warmth of mirth.</p> + +<p>"We'll try to amuse you," he promised.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> +<h2>II</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> +<p>t was a business consultation that was being held in Mr. Ffrench's +firelit library, in spite of the presence of a tea-table and the young +girl behind it. A consultation between the two partners who composed +the Mercury Automobile Company, of whom the lesser was speaking with a +certain anecdotal weight.</p> + +<p>"And he said he was losing too much time on the turns; so the next +round he took the bend at seventy-two miles an hour. He went over, of +course. The third car we've lost this year; I'm glad the season's +closed."</p> + +<p>Emily Ffrench gave an exclamation, her velvet eyes widening behind +their black lashes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But the driver! Was the poor driver hurt, Mr. Bailey?"</p> + +<p>"He wasn't killed, Miss Emily," answered Bailey, with a tinge of +pensive regret. He was a large, ruddy, white-haired man, with the slow +and careful habit of speech sometimes found in those who live much +with massive machinery. "No, he wasn't killed; he's in the hospital. +But he wrecked as good a car as ever was built, through sheer +foolishness. It costs money."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench responded to the indirect appeal with more than usual +irritation, his level gray eyebrows contracting.</p> + +<p>"We ought to have better drivers. Why do you not get better men, +Bailey? You wanted to go into this racing business; you said the cars +needed advertising. My brother always attended to that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> side of the +factory affairs, while he lived, with you as his manager. Now it is +altogether in your hands. Why do you not find a proper driver?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps my hands are not used to holding so much," mused Bailey +unresentfully. "A man might be a good manager, maybe, and weak as a +partner. It isn't the same job. But a first-class driver isn't easy to +get, Mr. Ffrench. There's Delmar killed, and George tied up with +another company, and Dorian retired, all this last season; and we +don't want a foreigner. There's only one man I like—"</p> + +<p>"Well, get him. Pay him enough."</p> + +<p>Bailey hunched himself together and crossed his legs.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He's beaten our cars—and others—every race lately, with +poorer machines, just by sheer pretty driving. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> drives fast, yet he +don't knock out his car. But there's a lot after him—there's just one +way we could get him, and get him for keeps."</p> + +<p>"And that?"</p> + +<p>"He's ambitious; he wants to get into something more solid than +racing. If we offered to make him manager, he'd come and put some new +ideas, maybe, into the factory, and race our cars wherever we chose to +enter them. I know him pretty well."</p> + +<p>The proposition was advanced tentatively, with the hesitation of one +venturing in unknown places. But Ethan Ffrench said nothing, his gray +eyes fixed on the hearth.</p> + +<p>"He understands motor construction and designing, and he's been with +big foreign firms," Bailey resumed, after wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>ing. "He'd be useful +around; I can't be everywhere. What he'd do for us in racing would +help a whole lot. It's very well to make a fine standard car, but it +needs advertising to keep people remembering. And men like to say 'my +machine is the same as Lestrange won the Cup race with.' They like +it."</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Mr. Ffrench slowly, "that it is dignified for the +manager of the Mercury factory to be a racing driver."</p> + +<p>"The Christine cars are driven by the son of the man who makes them," +was the response. "Some drive their own."</p> + +<p>"The son of the man who makes them," repeated the other. He turned his +face still more to the quivering fire, his always severe expression +hardening strangely and bitterly. "The son—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + +<p>The girl rose to draw the crimson curtains before the windows and to +push an electric switch, filling the room with a subdued golden glow +in place of the late afternoon grayness. Her delicate face, as she +regarded her uncle, revealed most strongly its characteristic +over-earnestness and a sensitive reflection of the moods of those +around her. Emily Ffrench's childhood had been passed in a Canadian +convent, and something of its mysticism clung about her. As the +cheerful change she had wrought flashed over the room, Mr. Ffrench +held out his hand in a gesture of summons, so that she came across to +sit on the broad arm of his chair during the rest of the conference, +her soft gaze resting on the third member.</p> + +<p>"My adopted son and nephew having no such talents, we must do the best +we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> can," Mr. Ffrench stated, with his most precise coldness. "Being +well-born and well-bred, he has no taste for a mechanic's labor or for +circus performances with automobiles in public. Who is your man, +Bailey?"</p> + +<p>"Lestrange, sir. You must have heard of him often."</p> + +<p>"I never read racing news."</p> + +<p>"I read ours," said Bailey darkly. "We've been licked often enough by +him. And he's straight—he's one of the few men who'll stop at the +grand-stand and lose time reporting a smash-up and sending help +around. Every man on the track likes Darling Lestrange."</p> + +<p>"Likes <i>whom</i>?"</p> + +<p>Bailey flushed brick-red.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to call him that. He signs himself D. Lestrange, and +some of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> them started reading it Darling, joking because he was such a +favorite and because they liked him anyhow. It's just a nickname."</p> + +<p>Emily laughed out involuntarily, surprised.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon," she at once apologized, "but it sounded so frivolous."</p> + +<p>"If you try this man, you had better keep that nickname out of the +factory," Mr. Ffrench advised stiffly. "What respect could the workmen +feel for a manager with such a title? If possible, you would do well +to prevent them from recognizing him as the racing driver."</p> + +<p>Bailey, who had risen at the chime of a clock, halted amazed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img class="img1" src="images/image_002.jpg" width="500" height="828" alt="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Respect for him!" he echoed. "Not recognize him! Why, there isn't a +man on the place who wouldn't give his ears <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>to be seen on the same +side of the street with Lestrange, let alone to work under him. They +<i>do</i> read the racing news. That part of it will be all right, if I can +have him."</p> + +<p>"If it is necessary—"</p> + +<p>"I think it is, sir."</p> + +<p>Emily moved slightly, pushing back her yellow-brown curls under the +ribbon that banded them. On a sudden impulse her uncle looked up at +her.</p> + +<p>"What is your opinion?" he questioned. "If Dick had been listening I +should have asked his, and I fancy yours is fully as valuable. Come, +shall we have this racing manager?"</p> + +<p>Astonished, she looked from her uncle to the other man. And perhaps it +was the real anxiety and suspense of Bailey's expression that drew her +quick reply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Let us, uncle. Since we need him, let us have him."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Mr. Ffrench. "You hear, Bailey."</p> + +<p>There was a long silence after the junior partner's withdrawal.</p> + +<p>"Come where I can see you, Emily," her uncle finally demanded. "I +liked your decided answer a few moments ago; you can reason. How long +have you been a daughter in my house?"</p> + +<p>"Six years," she responded, obediently moving to a low chair opposite. +"I was fifteen when you took me from the convent—to make me very, +very happy, dear."</p> + +<p>"I sent for you when I sent for Dick, and for the same reason. I have +tried three times to rear one of my name to fitness to bear it, and +each one has failed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> except you. I wish you were a man, Emily; there +is work for a Ffrench to do."</p> + +<p>"When you say that, I wish I were. But—I'm not, I'm not." She flung +out her slender, round arms in a gesture of helpless resignation. "I'm +not even a strong-minded woman who might do instead. Uncle Ethan, may +I ask—it was Mr. Bailey who made me think—my cousin whom I never +saw, will he never come home?"</p> + +<p>Her voice faltered on the last words, frightened at her own daring. +But her uncle answered evenly, if coldly:</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"He offended you so?"</p> + +<p>"His whole life was an offense. School, college, at home, in each he +went wrong. At twenty-one he left me and married a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> woman from the +vaudeville stage. It is not of him you are to think, Emily, but of a +substitute for him. For that I designed Dick; once I hoped you would +marry him and sober his idleness."</p> + +<p>"Please, no," she refused gently. "I am fond of Dick, but—please, +no."</p> + +<p>"I am not asking it of you. He is well enough, a good boy, not +overwise, but not what is needed here. Failed, again; I am not +fortunate. There is left only you."</p> + +<p>"Me?"</p> + +<p>Her startled dark eyes and his determined gray ones met, and so +remained.</p> + +<p>"You, and your husband. Are you going to marry a man who can take my +place in this business, in the factory and the model village my +brother and I built around it; a man whose name will be fit to join +with ours and so in a fashion pre<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>serve it here? Will you wait until +such a one is found and will you aid me to find him? Or will you too +follow selfish, idle fancies of your own?"</p> + +<p>"No!" she answered, quite pale. "I would not do that! I will try to +help."</p> + +<p>"You will take up the work the men of your name refuse, you will +provide a substitute for them?"</p> + +<p>Her earnestness sprang to meet his strength of will, she leaned nearer +in her enthusiasm of self-abnegation, scarcely understood.</p> + +<p>"I will find a substitute or accept yours. I, indeed I will try not to +fail."</p> + +<p>It was characteristic that he offered neither praise nor caress.</p> + +<p>"You have relieved my mind," said Ethan Ffrench, and turned his face +once more to the fire.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> +<h2>III</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> +<p>t was October when the consultation was held in the library of the +old Ffrench house on the Hudson; December was very near on the sunny +morning that Emily drove out to the factory and sought Bailey in his +office.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to talk with you," she explained, as that gentleman rose to +receive her. "We have known each other for a long time, Mr. Bailey; +ever since I came from the Sacred Heart to live with Uncle Ethan. That +is a <i>very</i> long time."</p> + +<p>"It's a matter of five or six years," agreed the charmed Bailey, +contemplating her with affectionate pride in her prettiness and grace. +"You used to drive out here with your pony and spend many an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> hour +looking on and asking questions. You'll excuse me, Miss Emily, but +there was many a man passed the whisper that you'd have made a fine +master of the works."</p> + +<p>She shook her head, folding her small gloved hands upon the edge of +the desk at the opposite sides of which they were seated.</p> + +<p>"At least I would have tried. I am quite sure I would have tried. But +I am only a girl. I came to ask you something regarding that," she +lifted her candid eyes to his, her soft color rising. "Do you +know—have you ever met any men who cared and understood about such +factories as this? Men who could take charge of a business, the +manufacturing and racing and selling, like my uncles? I have a reason +for asking."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sure thing," said Bailey, unexpectedly prompt. "I've met one man who +knows how to handle this factory better than I do, and I've been at it +twelve years. And there he is—" he turned in his revolving chair and +rolled up the shade covering the glass-set door into the next room, +"my manager, Lestrange."</p> + +<p>The scene thus suddenly opened to the startled Emily was sufficiently +matter-of-fact, yet not lacking in a certain sober animation of its +own. Around a drafting table central in the bare, systematic disorder +of the apartment beyond, three or four blue-shirted men were grouped, +bending over a set of drawings, which Lestrange was explaining. +Explaining with a vivid interest in his task that sparkled over his +clear face in a changing play of expression almost mesmeric in its +com<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>mand of attention. The men watched and listened intently; they +themselves no common laborers, but the intelligent workmen who were to +carry out the ideas here set forth. Wherever Lestrange had been, he +was coatless and the sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled back, +leaving bare the arms whose smooth symmetry revealed little of the +racing driver's strength; his thick brown hair was rumpled into boyish +waves and across his forehead a fine black streak wrote of recent +personal encounter with things practical.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Emily faintly. And after a moment, "Close the curtain, +please."</p> + +<p>None of the group in the next room had noticed the movement of the +shade, absorbed in one another; any sound being<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> muffled by the throb +of adjacent machinery. Bailey obeyed the request, and leaned back in +his chair.</p> + +<p>"That's Darling Lestrange," he stated with satisfaction. "That's his +own design for an oiling system he's busy with, and it's a beauty. +He's entered for every big race coming this season, starting next week +in Georgia, and meantime he oversees every department in every +building as it never was done before. The man for me, he is."</p> + +<p>Emily made an unenthusiastic sign of agreement.</p> + +<p>"I meant very different men from Mr. Lestrange," she replied, her +dignity altogether Ffrench. "I have no doubt that he is all you say, +but I was thinking of another class. I meant—well, I meant a +gentleman."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, you meant a gentleman," replied Bailey, surveying her oddly. "I +didn't know, you see. No; I don't know any one like that."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. Then I will go. I—it does not matter."</p> + +<p>She did not go, however, but remained leaning on the arm of her chair +in troubled reverie, her long lashes lowered. Bailey sat as quietly, +watching her and waiting.</p> + +<p>The murmur of voices came dully through the closed door, one, lighter +and clearer in tone, most frequently rising above the roar pervading +the whole building. It was not possible that Emily's glimpse of +Lestrange across the glass should identify him absolutely with the man +she had seen once in the flickering lights and shadows on the Long +Island<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> road; but he was not of a type easily forgotten, and she had +been awakened to a doubting recognition.</p> + +<p>Now, many little circumstances recurred to her; a strangeness in +Dick's manner when the new manager was alluded to, the fact that her +rescuer on that October night had been driving a racing car and had +worn a racing costume; and lastly, when Bailey spoke of "Darling" +Lestrange there had flashed across her mind the mechanician's +ridiculous answer to the request to aid her chauffeur in changing a +tire: "I'll do it for you, Darling." And listening to that dominant +voice in the next room, she slowly grew crimson before a vision of +herself in the middle of a country road, appealing to a stranger for +succor, like the heroine of melodramatic fiction. Decid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>edly, she +would never see Lestrange, never let him discover Miss Ffrench.</p> + +<p>"I will go," she reiterated, rising impetuously.</p> + +<p>The glass-set door opened with unwarning abruptness.</p> + +<p>"I'll see Mr. Bailey," declared some one. "He'll know."</p> + +<p>Helpless, Emily stood still, and straightway found herself looking +directly into Lestrange's gray eyes as he halted on the threshold.</p> + +<p>It was Bailey who upheld the moment, all unconsciously.</p> + +<p>"Come in," he invited heartily. "Miss Ffrench, this is our manager, +Mr. Lestrange; the man who's going to double our sales this year."</p> + +<p>Emily moved, then straightened herself proudly, lifting her small +head. Le<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>strange had recognized her, she felt; the call was to +courage, not flight.</p> + +<p>"I think I have already met Mr. Lestrange," she said composedly. "I am +pleased to meet him again."</p> + +<p>"Met him!" cried Bailey. "Met him? Why—"</p> + +<p>Neither heeded him. A gleaming surprise and warmth lit Lestrange's +always brilliant face.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he answered her. "You are more than good to recall me, +Miss Ffrench. I owe an apology for breaking in this way, but I fancied +Mr. Bailey alone—and he spoils me."</p> + +<p>"It is nothing; I was about to go." She turned to give Bailey her +hand, smiling involuntarily in her relief. With a glance, an +inflection, Lestrange had stripped their former meeting of its +em<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>barrassment and unconventionality, how, she neither analyzed nor +cared.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," said Bailey. "Shall I take you through, or—"</p> + +<p>But Lestrange was already holding open the door, with a bright +unconcern as to his workmanlike costume which impressed Emily +pleasantly. She wondered if Dick would have borne the situation as +well, in the impossible event of his being found at work.</p> + +<p>The two walked together down an aisle of the huge, machinery-crowded +room, the grimy men lifting their heads to gaze after Emily as she +passed. Once Lestrange paused to speak to a man who sat, note-book and +pencil in hand, beside another who manipulated under a grinding wheel +a delicate aluminum casting.</p> + +<p>"Pardon," he apologized to Emily,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> who had lingered also. "Mathews +would have let that go wrong in another moment. He," his smile glanced +out, "he is not a Rupert at changing his tires, so to speak, but just +a good chauffeur."</p> + +<p>The gay and natural allusion delighted her. For the first time in her +life Emily Ffrench laughed out in a genuine, mischievous sense of +adventure.</p> + +<p>"Yes? I wonder you could separate yourself from that Rupert to come +here; he was a most bewildering person," she retorted.</p> + +<p>"Separate from Rupert? Why, I would not think of racing a taxicab, as +he would say, without Rupert beside me. He is here taking a +post-graduate course in this type of car, in order to be up to his +work when we go down to Georgia next week."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Next week? You expect to win that race?"</p> + +<p>"No. We are running a stock car against some heavy foreign racing +machines; the chance of winning is slight. But I hope to outrun any +other American car on the course, if nothing goes wrong."</p> + +<p>She looked up.</p> + +<p>"And if something does?" she wondered.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Pray be careful of those moving belts behind you, Miss Ffrench. If +something does—there is a chance in every game worth playing."</p> + +<p>"A chance!" her feminine nerves recoiled from the implied +consequences. "But only a chance, surely. You were never in an +accident, never were hurt?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lestrange regarded her in surprise mingled with a dawning raillery +infinitely indulgent.</p> + +<p>"I had no accidents last season," he guardedly responded. "I've been +quite lucky. At least Rupert and I play our game unhampered; there +will be no broken hearts if we are picked up from under our car some +day."</p> + +<p>They had reached the door while he spoke; as he put his hand on the +knob to open it, Emily saw a long zigzag scar running up the extended +arm from wrist to elbow, a mute commentary on the conversation. In +silence she passed out across the courtyard to where her red-wheeled +cart waited. But when Lestrange had put her in and given her the +reins, she held out her hand to him with more gravity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shall wish you good luck for next week," she said.</p> + +<p>Lestrange threw back his head, drawing a quick breath; here in the +strong sunlight he showed even younger than she had thought him, young +with a primitive intensity of just being alive.</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I would like—if it were possible—to win this race."</p> + +<p>"This one, especially?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, because it is the next step toward a purpose I have set myself, +and which I shall accomplish if I live. Not that I will halt if this +step fails, no, nor for a score of such failures, but I am anxious to +go on and finish."</p> + +<p>Up to Emily's face rushed the answering color and fire to his; drawn +by the bond of mutual earnestness, she leaned nearer.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You live to do something? So do I, so do I! And every one else +<i>plays</i>."</p> + +<p>However Lestrange would have replied, he was checked by the crash of +the courtyard gate. Abruptly recalled to herself, Emily turned, to see +Dick Ffrench coming toward them.</p> + +<p>Remembering how the three had last met, the situation suggested +strain. But to Emily's astonishment the young men exchanged friendly +nods, although Dick flushed pink.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Lestrange," he greeted. "I've just come up from the +city, Emily, and there wasn't any carriage at the station, so when one +of the testers told me you were here I came over to get a ride."</p> + +<p>"I've been to see Mr. Bailey," she responded. "Get in."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>As Dick climbed in beside her, she bent her head to Lestrange; if she +had regretted her impulsive confidence, again the clear sanity and +calm of the gray eyes she encountered established self-content.</p> + +<p>When they were trotting down the road toward home, in the crisp air, +Emily glanced at her cousin.</p> + +<p>"I did not know you and Mr. Lestrange were so well acquainted," she +remarked.</p> + +<p>"I see him now and then," Dick answered uneasily. "He's too busy to +want me bothering around him much. You—remembered him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He absently took the whip from its socket, flecking the horse with it +as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It was awfully square of you, Emily, not to mention that night to +Uncle Ethan.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> It wasn't like a girl, at all. I made an idiot of +myself, and you've never said anything to me about it since. I never +told you where Lestrange took me, because I didn't like to talk of the +thing. I'm really awfully fond of you, cousin."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Dickie," she said patiently.</p> + +<p>"Well, Lestrange rubbed it in. Oh, he didn't say much. But he carried +me down to where they were practising for a road race. Such a jolly +lot of fellows, like a bunch of kids; teasing and calling jokes back +and forth at one another half the night until daybreak, everything raw +and chilly. Busy, and their mechanics busy, and one after another +swinging into his car and going off like a rocket. By the time +Lestrange went off, I was as much stirred up as anybody. When he made +a record circuit at seventy-seven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> miles an hour average, I was +shouting over the rail like a good one. And then, while he was off +again, a big blue car rolled in and its driver yelled that Lestrange +had gone over on the Eastbury turn, and to send around the ambulance. +It was like a nightmare; I sat down on a stone and felt sick."</p> + +<p>"He—"</p> + +<p>"He shook me up half an hour later, and stood laughing at me. 'Upset?' +he said. 'No; we shed a tire and went off into a field, but it didn't +hurt the machine, so we righted her and came in.' He was limping and +bruised and scratched, but he was laughing, while a crowd of people +were trying to shake hands with him and say things. I felt—funny; as +if I wasn't much good. I never felt like that before. 'This is only +practise,' he said, when I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> was about to go. 'The race to-morrow will +do better. We find it more exciting than cocktails.' That was all, but +I knew what he meant, all right. I've been careful ever since. He won +the race next day, too."</p> + +<p>"Dick, didn't it ever occur to you that you as well as Mr. Lestrange +might do real things?" she asked, after a moment.</p> + +<p>He turned his round, good-humored face to her in boundless amazement.</p> + +<p>"I? I race cars and break my neck and call it fun, like Lestrange? +You're laughing at me, Emily."</p> + +<p>"No, no," in spite of herself the picture evoked brought her smile. +"Not like that. But you might be interested in the factory. You might +learn from Mr. Bailey and take charge of the business with Uncle +Ethan. It would please <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>uncle, <i>how</i> it would please him, if you +did!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"><img class="img1" src="images/image_003.jpg" width="500" height="796" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Dick stirred unhappily.</p> + +<p>"It would take a lot of grind," he objected. "I haven't the head for +it, really. I'm not such an awfully bad lot, but I hate work. Let's +not be serious, cousin. How pretty the frosty wind makes you look!"</p> + +<p>Emily tightened the reins with a brief sigh of resignation.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Dickie. I—uncle will find a substitute. Things must go +on somehow, I suppose, even if we do not like the way."</p> + +<p>But the way loomed distasteful that morning as never before.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> +<h2>IV</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div> +<p>r. Ffrench and his niece were at breakfast, on the Sunday when the +first account of the Georgia race reached Ffrenchwood.</p> + +<p>"You will take fresh coffee," Emily was saying, the little silver pot +poised in her hand, when the door burst open and Dick hurried, +actually hurried, into the room.</p> + +<p>"He's won! He's got it!" he cried, brandishing the morning newspaper. +"The first time for an American car with an American driver. And how +he won it! He distanced every car on the track except the two big +Italian and French machines. Those he couldn't get, of course; but the +Frenchman went out in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> the fourth hour with a broken valve. Then he +was set down for second place—second place, Emily, with every other +big car in the country entered. They say he drove like, like—I don't +know what. A hundred and some miles an hour on the straight +stretches."</p> + +<p>"Oh," Emily faltered, setting down the coffee-pot in her plate.</p> + +<p>He stopped her eagerly, half turning toward Mr. Ffrench, who had put +on his pince-nez to contemplate his nephew in stupefaction, not at his +statement, but at his condition.</p> + +<p>"Wait. In the last hour, the Italian car lost its chain and went over +into a ditch on a back stretch, three miles from a doctor. People +around picked the men out of the wreck, and Lestrange came up to find +that the driver was likely to die<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> from a severed artery before help +got there. Emily, he stopped, stopped, with victory in his hands, had +the Italian lifted into the mechanician's seat, and Rupert held him in +while they dashed around the course to the hospital. He got him there +fifteen minutes before an ambulance could have reached him, and the +man will get well. But Lestrange had lost six minutes. He had rushed +straight to the doctor's, given them the man, and gone right on, but +he had lost six minutes. When people realized what he'd done, they +went wild. Every one thought he'd lost the race, but they cheered him +until they couldn't shout. And he kept on driving. It's all here," he +waved the gaudy sheet. "The paper's full of it. He had half an hour to +make up six minutes, and he did it. He came in nine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>teen seconds ahead +of the nearest car. The crowd swarmed out on the course and fell all +over him. Old Bailey's nearly crazy."</p> + +<p>To see Dick excited would have been marvel enough to hold his auditors +mute, if the story itself had not possessed a quality to stir even +non-sporting blood. Emily could only sit and gaze at the head-lines of +the extended newspaper, her dark eyes wide and shining, her soft lips +apart.</p> + +<p>"He telegraphed to Bailey," Dick added, in the pause. "Ten words: +'First across line in Georgia race. Car in fine shape. Lestrange.' +That was all."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench deliberately passed his coffee-cup to Emily.</p> + +<p>"You had better take your breakfast," he advised. "It is unusual to +see you noticing business affairs, Dick; I might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> say unprecedented. I +am glad if Bailey's new man is capable of his work, at least. I +suppose for the rest, that he could scarcely do less than take an +injured person to the hospital. Why are you putting sugar in my cup, +Emily?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she acknowledged helplessly.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to disturb any one," said Dick, sulky and resentful. +"It'll be a big thing though for our cars, Bailey says. I didn't know +you disliked Lestrange."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench stiffened in his chair.</p> + +<p>"I have not sufficient interest in the man to dislike him," was the +cold rebuke. "We will change the subject."</p> + +<p>Emily bent her head, remedying her mistake with the coffee. She +comprehended that her uncle had conceived one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> of his strong, silent +antipathies for the young manager, and she was sorry. Sorry, although, +remembering Bailey's unfortunate speech the night Lestrange's +engagement was proposed, she was not surprised. But she looked across +to Dick sympathetically. So sympathetically, that after breakfast he +followed her into the library, the colored journals in his hand.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with the old gentleman this morning?" he +complained. "He wants the business to succeed, doesn't he? If he does, +he ought to like what Lestrange is doing for it. What's the matter +with him?"</p> + +<p>Emily shook back her yellow curls, turning her gaze on him.</p> + +<p>"You might guess, Dickie. He is lonely."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lonely! He!"</p> + +<p>All the feminine impulse to defend flared up.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she exclaimed with passion. "Who has he got? Who stands +with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired +to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he +dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, Dick Ffrench."</p> + +<p>Quite aghast, he stared after her as she turned away to the nearest +window. But presently he followed her over, still holding the papers.</p> + +<p>"Don't you want to read about the race?" he ventured.</p> + +<p>Smiling, though her lashes were damp, Emily accepted the peace +offering.</p> + +<p>"Yes, please."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You're not angry? You know I'm a stupid chump sometimes; I don't mean +it."</p> + +<p>This time she laughed outright.</p> + +<p>"No; I am sorry I was cross. It is I who would like to shirk my work. +Never mind me; let us read."</p> + +<p>They did read, seated opposite each other in the broad window-seat and +passing the sheets across as they finished them. Dick had not +exaggerated, on the contrary he had not said enough. Lestrange and his +car were the focus of the hour's attention. The daring, the reckless +courage that risked life for victory, the generosity which could throw +that victory away to aid a comrade, and lastly the determination and +skill which had won the conquest after all—the whole formed a feat +too spectacular to escape<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> public hysteria. It was very doubtful +indeed whether Lestrange liked his idolizing, but there was no escape.</p> + +<p>The two who read were young.</p> + +<p>"It was a splendid fight," sighed Dick, when they dropped the last +page.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Emily assented. "When he comes back, when you see him, give him +my congratulations."</p> + +<p>"When I see him? Why don't you tell him yourself?"</p> + +<p>Something like a white shadow wiped the scarlet of excitement from her +cheeks, as she averted her face.</p> + +<p>"I shall not see him; I shall not go to the factory any more. It will +be better, I am sure."</p> + +<p>Vaguely puzzled and dismayed, Dick sat looking at her, not daring to +question.</p> + +<p>Emily kept her word during the weeks<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> that followed. Through Dick and +Bailey she heard of factory affairs; of the sudden increase of orders +for the Mercury automobiles, the added prestige gained, and the public +favor bestowed on the car. But she saw nothing of the man who was +responsible for all this. Instead she went out more than ever before. +Their social circle was too painfully exclusive to be large or gay.</p> + +<p>Three times a week it was Mr. Ffrench's stately custom to visit the +factory and inspect it with Bailey. At other times Bailey came up to +the house, where affairs were conducted. But in neither place did Mr. +Ffrench ever come in contact with his manager, during all the months +while winter waxed and waned again to spring.</p> + +<p>"That's Bailey's doing," chuckled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> Dick, when Emily finally wondered +aloud at the circumstance. "He isn't going to risk losing Lestrange +because our high and mighty uncle falls out with him. And it would be +pretty likely to happen if they met. Lestrange has a temper, you know, +even if it doesn't stick out all over him like a hedgehog; and a dozen +other companies would give money to get him."</p> + +<p>Emily nodded gravely. It was a sunny morning in the first of March, +and the cousins were at the end of the old park surrounding +Ffrenchwood, where they had strolled before breakfast.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bailey likes Mr. Lestrange," she commented.</p> + +<p>"Likes him! He loves him. You know Lestrange lives with him; a +bachelor household, cozy as grigs."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just past here ran the road, beyond a high cedar hedge. While he was +speaking, the irregular explosive reports of a motor had sounded down +the valley, unmistakable to those familiar with the testing of the +stripped cars, and rapidly approaching. Now, as Emily would have +answered, the roar suddenly changed in character, an appalling series +of explosions mingled with the grind of outraged machinery suddenly +braked, and some one shouted above the din. The next instant a huge +mass shot past the other side of the hedge and there followed a dull +crash.</p> + +<p>"That's one of our men!" gasped Dick, and plunged headlong through the +shrubbery.</p> + +<p>Dazed momentarily, Emily stood, then caught up her skirts and ran +after him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> She knew well enough what the testers of the cars risked.</p> + +<p>"Dick!" she appealed. "Dick!"</p> + +<p>But it was not the wreck she anticipated that met her eyes as she came +through the hedge. On the opposite side of the road a long low +skeleton car was standing, one side lurched drunkenly down with two +wheels in the gutter. Still in his seat, the driver was leaning over +the steering-wheel, out of breath, but laughing a greeting to the +astonished Dick.</p> + +<p>"A break in the steering-gear," he declared, by way of explanation. "I +told Bailey it was a weak point; now perhaps he'll believe me and +strengthen it."</p> + +<p>"You're not hurt," Dick inferred.</p> + +<p>"I think she's not—a tire gone. Find anything wrong, Rupert?"</p> + +<p>"Two tires off," said the laconic me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>chanician. "Two funerals +postponed. That was a pretty stop, Darling."</p> + +<p>"Very," coolly agreed Lestrange, rising and removing his goggles. +"What's the matter, Ffrench?"</p> + +<p>"You frightened us out of our five senses, that's all. Do you usually +practise for races out here?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Us?</i>" repeated Lestrange, and turning, saw the girl at the edge of +the park. "Miss Ffrench, I beg your pardon!"</p> + +<p>The swift change in his tone, the ease of deference with which he +bared his head and, motor caps not being readily donned or doffed, so +remained bareheaded in the bright sunlight, savored of the Continent.</p> + +<p>"It is too commonplace to say good morning," Emily replied, her color +rising with her smile. "I am very glad you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> escaped. But that is +commonplace, too, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"Every one is commonplace before breakfast," reassured her cousin. +"Honestly, Lestrange, do you practise racing here?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly. I'm trying out the car; every car has to go through that +before it is used. Don't you know that we've recently secured from the +local authorities a permit to run at any speed over this road between +four o'clock and eight in the morning? I thought all the country-side +knew that."</p> + +<p>"But we have a regiment of men to test cars."</p> + +<p>Lestrange passed a caressing glance over the dingy-gray machine in its +state of bareness that suggested indecorum.</p> + +<p>"This is my car, the one I'll race this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> spring and summer. No one +drives it but me. Besides, I have to have some diversion."</p> + +<p>He stepped to the ground with the last word, and went around to where +Rupert was on his knees beside the machine.</p> + +<p>"Can you fix it here?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Not precisely," was the drawled reply. "Back to camp for it with a +horse in front."</p> + +<p>"All right. You'll have to walk down and get a car from Mr. Bailey to +tow it home."</p> + +<p>Rupert got up, his dark, malign little face twisted.</p> + +<p>"If I'd broken a leg they'd have sent a cart for me," he mourned. "Now +I'll have to walk, and I ain't used to it. Hard luck!"</p> + +<p>"If you go around to the stables they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> will give you my pony cart," +Emily offered impulsively. "You," her dimpling smile gleamed out, "you +once put a tire on for me, you know. Please let me return the +service."</p> + +<p>Rupert's black eyes opened, a slow grin of appreciation crinkled +streaks of dust and oil as he surveyed the young girl.</p> + +<p>"I'll put tires on every wheel you run into control, day and night +shifts," he acknowledged with sweet cordiality. "But I'm no +horse-chauffeur, thanks; I guess I'll walk."</p> + +<p>"He is a gentle pony," she remonstrated. "Any one can drive him."</p> + +<p>He turned a side glance toward the motionless car.</p> + +<p>"That's all right, but I'm used to being killed other ways. I'll be +going."</p> + +<p>"Jack Rupert, do you mean to tell me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> that you will race with +Lestrange every season, and yet you're afraid to drive a fat cob?" +cried the delighted Dick.</p> + +<p>"I'm not telling anything. I had a chum who was pitched out by a horse +he lost control of, and broke his neck. I'm taking no chances."</p> + +<p>"How many men have you seen break their necks out of autos?"</p> + +<p>"That's in business," pronounced Rupert succinctly. "I'm going on, +Darling; it's only a two-mile run."</p> + +<p>"Here, wait," Dick urged. "Emily, I'll stroll around to the stables +with him and make one of the men drive him down. You don't mind my +leaving you?"</p> + +<p>"No," Emily answered. "I will wait for you."</p> + +<p>She might have walked back alone, if she had chosen. But instead she +sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> down on a boulder near the hedge, folding her hands in her lap +like a demure child. The house was so dull, so hopelessly monotonous +contrasted with this fresh, wind-tossed outdoors and Lestrange in his +vigor of life and glamour of ultramodern adventure.</p> + +<p>"You and Mr. Ffrench are very good," Lestrange said presently. "I am +afraid I appreciate it more than Rupert, though."</p> + +<p>"Is he really afraid of horses?"</p> + +<p>"I should not wonder; I never tried him. But he is amazingly +truthful."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met across the strip of sunny road as they smiled; again +Emily felt the sudden confidence, the falling away of all constraint +before the direct clarity of his regard.</p> + +<p>"You won your race," she said irrele<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>vantly. "I was glad, since you +wanted it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," he returned with equal simplicity. "But I did not want it +that way, so far as I was concerned."</p> + +<p>"Yet, it was the next step?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was the next step. I meant that one does not care to be +victor because the leading cars were wrecked. There is no elation in +defeating a driver who lies out on the course. But, as you say, it +helped my purpose. You," he hesitated for the right phrase, "you are +most kind to recall that I have a purpose."</p> + +<p>It was the convent-bred Emily who looked back at him, earnest-eyed, +exaltedly serious.</p> + +<p>"I have thought of it often. Every one else that I know just lives the +way things happen—there are only a few peo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>ple who grasp things and +<i>make</i> them happen. That is real work; so many of us are just given +work we do not want—" she broke off.</p> + +<p>"If we do not want the work, it is probably not our own," said +Lestrange. "Unless we have brought it on ourselves by a fault we must +undo—I need not speak of that to you. One must not make the mistake +of assuming some one else's work."</p> + +<p>He spoke gently, almost as if with a clairvoyant reading of her +tendency to self-immolation.</p> + +<p>"But may not some one else's fault be given us to undo?" she asked +eagerly. "May not their work be forced on us?"</p> + +<p>"No," he answered.</p> + +<p>"No?" bewildered.</p> + +<p>"I don't think so. Each one of us has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> enough with his own, at least +so it seems to me. Most of us die before we finish it."</p> + +<p>Emily paused, contending with the loneliness and doubts which impelled +her to speech, the feminine yearning to let another decide her +problems. This other's nonchalant strength of decision allured her +uncertainty.</p> + +<p>"I am discouraged," she confessed. "And tired. I—there is no reason +why I should not speak of it. You know Dick, how he can do nothing in +the factory or business, or in the places where a Ffrench should +stand. All this must fall into the hands of strangers, to be broken +and forgotten, when my uncle dies, for lack of some one who would +care. And Uncle Ethan seems severe and hard, but it grieves him all +the time. His only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> son was not a good man; he lives abroad with his +wife, who was an actress before he married her. You knew that?" as he +moved.</p> + +<p>"I heard something of it in the village," Lestrange admitted gravely. +"Please do not think me fond of gossip; I could not avoid it. But I +should not have imagined this a family likely to make low marriages."</p> + +<p>"It never happened before. I never saw that cousin, nor did Dick; but +he was always a disappointment, always, Uncle Ethan has told me. And +since he failed, and Dick fails, there is only me."</p> + +<p>"You!"</p> + +<p>She nodded, her lip quivering.</p> + +<p>"Only me. Not as a substitute—I am not fit for that—but to find a +substitute.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> I have promised my uncle to marry the first one who is +able to be that."</p> + +<p>The silence was absolute. Lestrange neither moved nor spoke, gazing +down at her bent head with an expression blending many shades.</p> + +<p>"It is a duty; there is no one except me," she added. "Only sometimes +I grow—to dislike it too much. I am so selfish that sometimes I hope +a substitute will never come."</p> + +<p>Her voice died away. It was done; she, Emily Ffrench, had deliberately +confided to this stranger that which an hour before she would have +believed no one could force from her lips in articulate speech. And +she neither regretted nor was ashamed, although there was time for +full realization before Lestrange answered.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I did not believe," he said, "that such things could be done. It is +nonsense, of course, but such magnificent nonsense! It is the kind of +situation, Miss Ffrench, where any man is justified in interfering. I +beg you will leave the affair in my hands and think no more of such +morbid self-sacrifice."</p> + +<p>Stupefied, Emily flung back her head, staring at him.</p> + +<p>"In <i>your</i> hands?"</p> + +<p>"Since there are none better, it appears. Why," his vivid face +questioned her full and straightly, "you didn't imagine that any man +living could hear what you are doing, and pass on?"</p> + +<p>"My uncle knows—"</p> + +<p>"Your uncle—is not for me to criticize. But do not ask any other man +to let you go on."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p>Her ideas reeling, she struggled for comprehension.</p> + +<p>"You, what could you do?" she marveled. "The substitute—"</p> + +<p>"There won't be any substitute," replied Lestrange with perfect +coolness. "I shall train Dick Ffrench to do his work."</p> + +<p>"You—"</p> + +<p>"I can, and I will."</p> + +<p>"He can not—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, he can; he is just idle and spoiled," the firm lips set more +firmly. "He shall take his place. I can handle him."</p> + +<p>Emily sat quite helplessly, her eyes black with excitement. Slowly +recollection flowed back to her of a change in Dick since his light +contact with Lestrange; his avoidance of even occasional<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> highballs, +his awakening interest in the clean sport of the races, and his +half-wistful admiration for the virile driver-manager.</p> + +<p>"I almost believe you could," she conceded.</p> + +<p>"I can," repeated Lestrange. "Only," he openly smiled, "it will be +hard on Dickie."</p> + +<p>It was the touch needed, the antidote to sentiment. Emily laughed with +him, laughed in sheer mischief and relief and leap of youth.</p> + +<p>"You will be gentle—poor Dickie!"</p> + +<p>"I'll be gentle. He is coming now, I think." He took a step nearer +her. "You will leave this in my care, wholly? You will not trouble +about—a substitute?"</p> + +<p>"I will leave it with you. But you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> forgetting your own doctrine; +you are taking some one else's work to do."</p> + +<p>"Pardon, I am merely making Ffrench do his work. I have seen a little +more of him than you perhaps know; I understand what I am undertaking. +Moreover, I would forget a great many doctrines to set you free."</p> + +<p>"Free?" she echoed; she had the sensation of being suddenly confronted +with an open door into the unexpected.</p> + +<p>"Free," he quietly reasserted. "Free to live your own life and draw +unhampered breath, and to decide the great question when it comes, +with thought only of yourself."</p> + +<p>She drew back; a prescient dismay fell sharply across her late relief, +a panic crossed with strange delight.</p> + +<p>"He's off," called Dick, emerging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> from the park. "I made Anderson +take him down with the limousine. At least, Rupert is driving while +Anderson sits alongside and holds on; when they came to the turn in +the avenue, your precious mechanician took it full speed and then +apologized for going so slowly because, as he said, he was an amateur +and likely to upset. Is he really a good driver, Lestrange?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty fair," returned Lestrange serenely, from his seat on the edge +of the ditched machine. "When I'm not using him, he's employed as one +of the factory car testers; and when we're racing I give him the wheel +if I want to fix anything. However, I'm obliged to that +steering-knuckle for breaking here, instead of leaving me to a long +wait in the wilds. Come down to the shop to-morrow at six, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> Rupert +and I will even up by taking you for a run."</p> + +<p>"Who; me? You're asking me?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? It's exhilarating."</p> + +<p>Dick removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, +gratification and alarm mingling in his expression with somewhat the +effect of the small boy who is first invited into a game with his +older brother's clique.</p> + +<p>"You—er, wouldn't smash me up?" he hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I haven't smashed up Rupert or myself, so far. If you feel timid, +never mind, of course; I'll take my usual companion."</p> + +<p>Dick flushed all over his plump face, the Ffrench blood up at last.</p> + +<p>"I was only joking," he hastily explained. "I'll come. It's only that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +you're so confoundedly reckless sometimes, Lestrange, and—But I'll +come."</p> + +<p>Lestrange gave his fine, glinting smile as he rose to salute Emily.</p> + +<p>"All right. If you don't get down to the factory in time, I'll call +for you," he promised.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> +<h2>V</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_t.jpg" alt="T" width="55" height="50" /></div> +<p>here was a change in the Ffrench affairs, a lightening of the +atmosphere, a vague quickening and stir of healthful cheer in the days +that followed. The somber master of the house met it in Bailey's +undisguised elation and pride when they discussed the successful +business now taxing the factory's resources, met it yet again in +Emily's pretty gaiety and content. But most strikingly was he +confronted with an alteration in Dick.</p> + +<p>It was only a week after his first morning ride with Lestrange, that +Dick electrified the company at dinner, by turning down the glass at +his plate.</p> + +<p>"I've cut out claret, and that sort of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> thing," he announced. "It's +bad for the nerves."</p> + +<p>His three companions looked up in complete astonishment. It was +Saturday night and by ancient custom Bailey was dining at the house.</p> + +<p>"What has happened to you? Have you been attending a revival meeting?" +the young man's uncle inquired with sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"It's bad for the nerves," repeated Dick. "There isn't any reason why +I shouldn't like to do anything other fellows do. Les—that is, none +of the men who drive cars ever touch that stuff, and look at their +nerve."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench contemplated him with the irritation usually produced by +the display of ostentatious virtue, but found no comment. Emily gazed +at the table, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> red mouth curving in spite of all effort at +seriousness.</p> + +<p>"You're right, Mr. Dick," said Bailey dryly. "Stick to it."</p> + +<p>And Dick stuck, without as much as a single lapse. Ffrenchwood saw +comparatively little of him, as time went on, the village and factory +much. He lost some weight, and acquired a coat of reddish tan.</p> + +<p>Emily watched and admired in silence. She had not seen Lestrange +again, but it seemed to her that his influence overlay all the life of +both house and factory. Sometimes this showed so plainly that she +believed Mr. Ffrench must see, must feel the silent force at work. But +either he did not see or chose to ignore. And Dick was incautious.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to buy one of our roadsters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> myself," he stated one day. +"Can I have it at cost?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench felt for his pince-nez.</p> + +<p>"You? Why do you not use the limousine?"</p> + +<p>"Because I don't want to go around in a box driven by a chauffeur. I +want a classy car to run myself. I've been driving some of the +stripped cars, lately, and I like it."</p> + +<p>"I will give you a car, if you want one," answered his uncle, quite +kindly. "Go select any you prefer."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," Dick sat up, beaming. "But I'll have to wait my turn, +we've orders ahead now. Lestrange says I've no right to come in and +make some other fellow wait."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench slowly stiffened.</p> + +<p>"We do not require lessons in ethics<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> from this Lestrange," was the +cold rebuke. "I shall telephone Bailey to send up your car at once."</p> + +<p>Rupert brought the sixty-horse-power roadster to the door, three hours +later. And Emily appreciated that Lestrange was discreet as well as +compelling, when she found the black-eyed young mechanician was +detailed to accompany Dick's maiden trips; which duty was fulfilled, +incidentally, with the fine tact of a Richelieu.</p> + +<p>In May there was a still greater accession of work at the factory. In +addition, the first of June was to open with a twenty-four hour race +at the Beach track, and Lestrange was entered for it. Excitement was +in the air; Dick came in the house only to eat and sleep.</p> + +<p>The day before the race, Mr. Ffrench<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> walked into the room where his +niece was reading.</p> + +<p>"I want to see Bailey," he said briefly. "Do you wish to drive me down +to the factory, or shall I have Anderson bring around the limousine?"</p> + +<p>"Please let us drive," she exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "I have +not been to the factory for months."</p> + +<p>"Very good. You are looking well, Emily, of late."</p> + +<p>Surprised, a soft color swept the face she turned to him.</p> + +<p>"I am well. Dear, I think we are all better this spring."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," said Ethan Ffrench. His bitter gray eyes passed +deliberately over the large room with all its traces of a family life +extending back to pre-Colonial times, but he said no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was an exquisite morning, too virginal for June, too richly warm +for May. When the two exchanged the sunny road for the factory office, +a north room none too light, it was a moment before their dazzled eyes +perceived no one was present. This was Bailey's private office, and +its owner had passed into the room beyond.</p> + +<p>"I will wait," conceded Mr. Ffrench, dismissing the boy who had +ushered them in. "Sit down, Emily; Bailey will return directly, no +doubt."</p> + +<p>But Emily had already sat down, for she knew the voice speaking beyond +the half-open door, and that the long-prevented meeting was now +imminent.</p> + +<p>"It will not do," Lestrange was stating definitely. "It should be +reinforced."</p> + +<p>"It's always been strong enough," Bai<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>ley's slower tones objected. +"For years. It's not a thing likely to break."</p> + +<p>"Not likely to break? Look at last year's record, Mr. Bailey, and tell +me that. A broken steering-knuckle killed Brook in Indiana, another +sent Little to the hospital in Massachusetts, the same thing wrecked +the leader at the last Beach race and dashed him through the fence. Do +you know what it means to the driver of a machine hurling itself along +the narrow verge of destruction, when the steering-wheel suddenly +turns useless in his grasp? Can you feel the sick helplessness, the +confronting of death, the compressed second before the crash? Is it +worth while to risk it for a bit of costless steel?"</p> + +<p>The clear realism of the picture forced a pause, filled by the dull +roar and throb<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> through the machinery-crowded building.</p> + +<p>"They were not our cars that broke, any of them," Bailey insisted.</p> + +<p>"Not our cars, no. But the steering-knuckle of my own machine broke +under my hands last March, on the road, and if I had been on a curve +instead of a straight stretch there would have been a wreck. As it +was, I brought her to a stop in the ditch. There is no other thing +that may not leave a fighting chance after it breaks, but this leaves +absolutely none. I know, you both know, that the steering-wheel is the +only weapon in the driver's grasp. If it fails him, he goes out and +his mechanician with him."</p> + +<p>Emily paled, shrinking. She remembered the road under the maples and +Lestrange's laughing face as he leaned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> breathless across his useless +wheel. That was what it had meant, then, the lightly treated episode!</p> + +<p>"You'd better fix it like he wants it," advised Dick's disturbed +tones. "Remember, he's got to drive the car Friday and Saturday, +Bailey, not us."</p> + +<p>"It's not alone for my racer I'm speaking, but for every car that +leaves the shop," Lestrange caught him up. "I'm not flinching; I've +driven the car before and I will again. It may hold for ever, that +part, but I've tested it and it's a weak point—take the warning for +what it's worth."</p> + +<p>There was a movement as if he rose with the last word. Emily laid her +hand on the arm of the chair, turning her excited dark eyes on her +uncle. Surely if ever Mr. Ffrench was to meet his man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>ager, this was +the moment; when Lestrange's ringing argument was still in their ears, +his splendid force of earnestness still vibrant in the atmosphere. And +suddenly she wanted them to meet, passionately wanted Ethan Ffrench's +liking for this man.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she began. "Uncle—"</p> + +<p>But it was not Lestrange's light step that halted on the threshold.</p> + +<p>"Why, I didn't know—" exclaimed Bailey. "Excuse me, Mr. Ffrench, they +didn't tell me you were down."</p> + +<p>He glanced over his shoulder; as he pulled shut the door Emily fancied +she heard an echo, as if the two young men left the next room. +Bitterly disappointed, she sank back.</p> + +<p>"That was your manager with you?" Mr. Ffrench frigidly inquired.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes; he went up-stairs to see how the new drill is acting." Bailey +pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed his brow. "Excuse me, it's warm. +Yes, he wants me to strengthen a knuckle—he's spoken considerable +about it. I guess he's right; better too much than too little."</p> + +<p>"I do not see that follows. I should imagine that you understood +building chassis better than this racing driver. You had best consult +outside experts in construction before making a change."</p> + +<p>"Uncle!" Emily cried.</p> + +<p>"There's a twenty-four hour race starts to-morrow night," Bailey +suggested uneasily. "It's easy fixed, and we might be wrong."</p> + +<p>"We have always made them this way?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but—"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Consult experts, then. I do not like your manager's tone; he is too +assuming. Now let me see those papers."</p> + +<p>Emily's parasol slipped to the floor with a sharp crash as she stood +up, quite pale and shaken.</p> + +<p>"Uncle, Mr. Lestrange knows," she appealed. "You heard him say what +would happen—please, please let it be fixed."</p> + +<p>Amazed, Mr. Ffrench looked at her, his face setting.</p> + +<p>"You forget your dignity," he retorted in displeasure. "This is mere +childishness, Emily. Men will be consulted more competent to decide +than this Lestrange. That will do."</p> + +<p>From one to the other she gazed, then turned away.</p> + +<p>"I will wait out in the cart," she said. "I—I would rather be +outdoors."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dick Ffrench was up-stairs, standing with Lestrange in one of the +narrow aisles between lines of grimly efficient machines that bit or +cut their way through the steel and aluminum fed to them, when Rupert +came to him with a folded visiting card.</p> + +<p>"Miss Ffrench sent it," was the explanation. "She's sitting out in her +horse-motor car, and she called me off the track to ask me to demean +myself by acting like a messenger boy. All right?"</p> + +<p>"All right," said Dick, running an astonished eye over the card.</p> + +<p>"No answer?"</p> + +<p>"No answer."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll hurry back to my embroidery. I'm several laps behind in my +work already."</p> + +<p>"See here, Lestrange," Dick began, as the mechanician departed, +sitting down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> on a railing beside a machine steadily engaged in +notching steel disks into gear-wheels.</p> + +<p>"Don't do that!" Lestrange exclaimed sharply. "Get up, Ffrench."</p> + +<p>"It's safe enough."</p> + +<p>"It's nothing of the kind. The least slip—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," he reluctantly rose, "if you're going to get fussy. Read +what Emily sent up."</p> + +<p>Lestrange accepted the card with a faint flicker of expression.</p> + +<p>"Dick, uncle is making the steering-knuckle wait for expert opinion," +the legend ran, in pencil. "Have Mr. Bailey strengthen Mr. Lestrange's +car, anyhow. Do not let him race so."</p> + +<p>Near them two men were engaged in babbitting bearings, passing +ladlefuls of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> molten metal carelessly back and forth, and splashing +hissing drops over the floor; at them Lestrange gazed in silence, +after reading, the card still in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Well?" Dick at last queried.</p> + +<p>"Have Mr. Bailey do nothing at all," was the deliberate reply. "There +is an etiquette of subordination, I believe—this is Mr. Ffrench's +factory. I've done my part and we'll think no more of the matter. I +may be wrong. But I am more than grateful to Miss Ffrench."</p> + +<p>"That's all you're going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I wish you would not sit there."</p> + +<p>"I'm tired; I won't fall in, and I want to think. We've been a lot +together this spring, Lestrange; I don't like this business about the +steering-gear. Do you go down to the Beach to-morrow?"</p> + +<p>"To-night. To-morrow I must put in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> practising on the track. I would +have been down to-day if there had not been so much to do here. Are +you coming with me, or not until the evening of the start?"</p> + +<p>Dick stirred uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to come at all, thank you. I saw you race once."</p> + +<p>"You had better get used to it," Lestrange quietly advised. "The day +may come when there is no one to take your place. This factory will be +yours and you will have to look after your own interests. I wish you +would come down and represent the company at this race."</p> + +<p>"I haven't the head for it."</p> + +<p>"I do not agree with you."</p> + +<p>Their eyes met in a long regard. Here, in the crowded room of workers, +the ceaseless uproar shut in their conver<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>sation with a walled +completeness of privacy.</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure whether you know it, Lestrange, but you've got me all +stirred up since I met you," the younger man confessed plaintively. +"You're different from other fellows and you've made me different. I'd +rather be around the factory than anywhere else I know, now. But +honestly I like you too well to watch you race."</p> + +<p>"I want you to come."</p> + +<p>"I—"</p> + +<p>One of the men with a vessel of white, heaving molten metal was trying +to pass through the narrow aisle. Dick broke his sentence to rise in +hasty avoidance, and his foot slipped in a puddle of oil on the floor.</p> + +<p>It was so brief in happening that only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> the workman concerned saw the +accident. As Dick fell backward, Lestrange sprang forward and caught +him, fairly snatching him from the greedy teeth. There was the rending +of fabric, a gasping sob from Dick, and reeling from the recoil, +Lestrange was sent staggering against a flying emery wheel next in +line.</p> + +<p>The workman set down his burden with a recklessness endangering +further trouble, active too late.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Lestrange!" he cried.</p> + +<p>But Lestrange had already recovered himself, his right arm crossed +with a scorched and bleeding bar where it had touched the glittering +wheel, and the two young men were standing opposite each other in +safety.</p> + +<p>"You are not hurt?" was the first question.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span></p> + +<p>"<i>I?</i> I ought to be, but I'm not. Come to a surgeon, Lestrange—Oh, +you told me not to sit there!"</p> + +<p>Lestrange glanced down at the surface-wound, then quickly back at the +two pallid faces.</p> + +<p>"Go on to your work, Peters," he directed. "I'm all right." And as the +man slowly obeyed, "<i>Now</i> will you take my advice and come to the race +with me, Ffrench?"</p> + +<p>"Race! You'd race with that arm?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Are you coming with me?"</p> + +<p>Shaken and tremulous, Dick passed a damp hand across his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I think you're mad to stand talking here. Come to the office, for +heaven's sake. And, I'd be ground up there, if you hadn't caught me," +he looked toward the jaws sullenly shredding and reshred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>ding a strip +of cloth from his sleeve. "I'll do anything you want."</p> + +<p>"Will you?" Lestrange flashed quickly. He flung back his head with the +resolute setting of expression the other knew so well, his eyes +brilliant with a resolve that took no heed of physical discomfort. +"Then give me your word that you'll stick to your work here. That is +my fear; that the change in you is just a mood you'll tire of some +day. I want you to stand up to your work and not drop out +disqualified."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Dick, subdued and earnest. "I couldn't help doing +it—your arm—"</p> + +<p>Lestrange impatiently dragged out his handkerchief and wound it around +the cut.</p> + +<p>"Go on."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't help keeping on; I couldn't go back now. You've got me awake. +No one else ever tried, and I was having a good time. It began with +liking you and thinking of all you did, and feeling funny alongside of +you." He paused, struggling with Anglo-Saxon shyness. "I'm awfully +fond of you, old fellow."</p> + +<p>The other's gray eyes warmed and cleared. Smiling, he held out his +left hand.</p> + +<p>"It's mutual," he assured. "It isn't playing the game to trap you +while you are upset like this. But I don't believe you'll be sorry. +Come find some one to tie this up for me; I can't have it stiff +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>But in spite of his professed haste, Lestrange stopped at the head of +the stairs and went back to recover some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> small object lying on the +floor beneath a pool of chilling metal. When he rejoined Dick, it was +to linger yet a moment to look back across the teeming room.</p> + +<p>"It's worth having, all this," he commented, with the first touch of +sadness the other ever had seen in him. "Don't throw it away, +Ffrench."</p> + +<p>There is usually a surgeon within reach of a factory. When Mr. Ffrench +passed out to the cart where Emily waited, he passed Dick and the +village physician entering. The elder gentleman put on his glasses to +survey his nephew's white face.</p> + +<p>"An accident?" he inquired.</p> + +<p>The casual curiosity was sufficiently exasperating, and Dick's nerves +were badly gone.</p> + +<p>"Nothing worth mentioning," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> snapped. "Just that I nearly fell into +the machinery and Lestrange has done up his arm pulling me out. That's +all."</p> + +<p>And he hurried the doctor on without further parley or excuse.</p> + +<p>Lestrange was in the room behind the office, smoking one of Bailey's +cigars and listening to that gentleman's vigorous remarks concerning +managers who couldn't keep out of their own machinery, the patient not +having considered it worth while to explain Dick's share in the +mischance. An omission which Dick himself promptly remedied in his +anxious contrition.</p> + +<p>Later, when the arm was being swathed in white linen, its owner spoke +to his companion of the morning:</p> + +<p>"I hope you didn't annoy Miss Ffrench with this trifling matter, as +you came in."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't speak to her at all, only to my uncle."</p> + +<p>"Very good."</p> + +<p>Something in the too-indolent tone roused Dick's usually dormant +observation. Startled, he scrutinized Lestrange.</p> + +<p>"Is that why you bothered yourself with me?" he stammered. "Is that +why—"</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" warned Lestrange forcibly and inelegantly. "That isn't +tight enough, Doc. You know I'm experienced at this sort of thing, and +I'm going to use this arm."</p> + +<p>But Dick was not to be silenced in his new enlightenment. When the +surgeon momentarily turned away, he leaned nearer, his plump face +grim.</p> + +<p>"If I brace up, it won't be for Emily, but for you, Darling +Lestrange," he whis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>pered viciously. "She don't want me and I don't +want her, that way. I've got over that. And, and—oh, confound it, I'm +sorry, old man!"</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" said Lestrange again.</p> + +<p>But though Dick's very sympathy unconsciously showed the hopeless +chasm between the racing driver and Miss Ffrench, the hurt did not +cloud the cordial smile Lestrange sent to mitigate his command.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> +<h2>VI</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_e.jpg" alt="E" width="44" height="50" /></div> +<p>mily first heard the full story of the accident that evening, when +Dick sat opposite her on the veranda and gave the account in frank +anxiety and dejection.</p> + +<p>"We're going down to-night on the nine o'clock train," he added in +conclusion. "To-morrow morning he'll spend practising on the track, +and to-morrow evening at six the race starts. And Lestrange starts +crippled because I am a clumsy idiot. He laughs at me, but—he'd do +that anyhow."</p> + +<p>"Yes," agreed Emily. "He would do that anyhow." Her eyes were wide and +terrified, the little hands she clasped in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> her lap were quite cold. +"I wish, I wish he had never come to this place."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you do?" Dick said oddly. "Maybe he will, too, before he gets +through with us. We're a nasty lot, we Ffrenches; a lot of +blue-blooded snobs without any red blood in us. Are you going to say +good-by to me? I won't be home until it's over."</p> + +<p>She looked at him, across the odorous dusk slowly silvering as the +moon rose.</p> + +<p>"You are going to be with him?"</p> + +<p>Dick smoothed his leggings before standing up, surveying his strict +motor costume with a gloomy pride not to be concealed.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I'm representing our company. Lestrange might want some backing +if any disputes turned up. Uncle Ethan nearly had a fit when Bailey +told him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> what I was going to do; he called me Richard for the first +time in my life. I guess I'll be some good yet, if every one except +Lestrange did think I was a chump."</p> + +<p>"I am very sure you will," she answered gently. "Good-by, Dick; you +look very nice."</p> + +<p>When he reached the foot of the steps, her voice recalled him, as she +stood leaning over the rail.</p> + +<p>"Dick, you could not make him give it up, not race this time?"</p> + +<p>He stared up at her white figure.</p> + +<p>"No, I could not. Don't you suppose I tried?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you did," she admitted, and went back to her seat.</p> + +<p>The June night was very quiet. Once a sleepy bird stirred in the +honeysuckle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> vines and chirped through the dark. Far below the throb +of a motor passed down the road, dying away again to leave silence. +Suddenly Emily Ffrench hid her face on the arm of her chair and the +tears overflowed.</p> + +<p>There was no consciousness of time while that inarticulate passion of +dread spent itself. But it was nearly half an hour later when she +started up at the echo of a light step on the gravel path, dashing her +handkerchief across her eyes.</p> + +<p>It was incredible, but it was true: Lestrange himself was standing +before her at the foot of the low stairs, the moonlight glinting +across his uncovered bronze head and bright, clear face.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon for trespass, Miss Ffrench," he said, "but your cousin +tells me he has been saying a great deal of non<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>sense to you about +this race, and that you were so very good as to feel some concern +regarding it. Really, I had to run up and set that right; I couldn't +leave you to be annoyed by Mr. Ffrench's nerves. Will you forgive me?"</p> + +<p>Like sun through a mist his blithe voice cleaved through her distress. +Before the tranquil sanity of his regard, her painted terrors suddenly +showed as the artificial canvas scenes of a stage, unreal, untrue.</p> + +<p>"It was like you to come," she answered, with a shaking sigh that was +half sob. "I was frightened, yes."</p> + +<p>"There is no cause. A dozen other men take the same chance as Rupert +and I; the driver who alternates with me, for instance. This is our +life."</p> + +<p>"Your arm—"</p> + +<p>"Is well enough." He laughed a little.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> "You will see many a bandaged +arm before the twenty-four hours are up; few of us finish without a +scratch or strain or blister. This is a man's game, but it's not half +so destructive as foot-ball. You wished me good luck for the Georgia +race; will you repeat the honor before I go back to Ffrench?"</p> + +<p>"I wish you," she said unsteadily, "every kind of success, now and +always. You saved Dick to-day—of all else you have done for him and +for me I have not words to speak. But it made it harder to bear the +thought of your hurt and risk from the hurt, when I knew that I had +sent Dick there, who caused it."</p> + +<p>Lestrange hesitated, himself troubled. Her soft loveliness in the +delicate light that left her eyes unreadable depths of shadow, her +timidity and anxiety for his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> safety, were from their very +unconsciousness most dangerous. And while he grasped at self-control, +she came still nearer to the head of the steps and held out her small +fair hand, mistaking his silence for leave-taking.</p> + +<p>"Good night; and I thank you for coming. I am not used to so much +consideration."</p> + +<p>Her accents were unsure when she would have made them most certain, +with her movement the handkerchief fell from her girdle to his feet. +Mechanically Lestrange recovered the bit of linen, and felt it lie wet +in his fingers. Wet—</p> + +<p>"Emily!" he cried abruptly, and sprang the brief step between them.</p> + +<p>Her white, terrified face turned to him in the moonlight, but he saw +her eyes. And seeing, he kissed her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>The moment left no time for speech. Some one was coming down the +drawing-room toward the long windows. Dick's impatient whistle sounded +shrilly from the park. Panting, quivering, Emily drew from the embrace +and fled within.</p> + +<p>She had no doubt of Lestrange, no question of his serious meaning—he +had that force of sincerity which made his silence more convincing +than the protestations of others. But alone in her room she laid her +cheek against the hand his had touched.</p> + +<p>"I wish I had died in the convent," she cried to her heart. "I wish I +had died before I made him unhappy too."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> +<h2>VII</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_m.jpg" alt="M" width="60" height="50" /></div> +<p>orning found a pale and languid Emily across the breakfast table from +Mr. Ffrench. Yet, by a contradiction of the heart, her pride in loving +and being loved so overbore the knowledge that only sorrow could +result to herself and Lestrange, that her eyes shone wide and lustrous +and her lips curved softly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench was almost in high spirits.</p> + +<p>"The boy was merely developing," he stated, over his grape-fruit. "I +have been unjust to Richard. For two months Bailey has been talking of +his interest in the business and attendance at the factory, but I was +incredulous. Although I fan<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>cied I observed a change—have you +observed a change in him, Emily?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Emily confirmed, "a very great change. He has grown up, at +last."</p> + +<p>"Ah? I can not express to you how it gratifies me to have a Ffrench +representing me in public; have you seen the morning journals?"</p> + +<p>"I have just come down-stairs."</p> + +<p>He picked up the newspaper beside him and passed across the folded +page.</p> + +<p>"<i>All in readiness for Beach Contest</i>," the head-lines ran. "<i>Last big +driver to arrive, Lestrange is in Mercury camp with R. Ffrench, +representative of Company.</i>"</p> + +<p>And there was a blurred picture of a speeding car with driver and +mechanician masked to goblinesque non-identity, with the legend +underneath: "'<i>Darling' Lestrange,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> in his Mercury on the Georgia +course.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Next year I shall make him part owner. It was always my poor +brother's desire to have the future name still Ffrench and Ffrench. He +was not thinking of Richard then; he had hope of—"</p> + +<p>Emily lifted her gaze from the picture, recalled to attention by the +break.</p> + +<p>"Of?" she echoed vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Of one who is unworthy thought. Richard has redeemed our family from +extinction; that is at rest." He paused for an instant. "My dear +child, when you are married and established, I shall be content."</p> + +<p>Her breathing quickened, her courage rose to the call of the moment.</p> + +<p>"If Dick is here, if he is instead of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> substitute," she said, +carefully quiet in manner, "would it matter, since I am only a girl, +whom I married, Uncle Ethan?"</p> + +<p>The recollection of that evening when Emily had given her promise of +aid, stirred under Mr. Ffrench's self-absorbtion. He looked across the +table at her colorless, eager face with perhaps his first thought of +what that promise might have cost her.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied kindly. "It is part of my satisfaction that you are +set free to follow your own choice, without thought of utility or +fortune. Of course, I need not say provided the man is of your own +class and associations. We will fear no more low marriages."</p> + +<p>She had known it before, but it was hard to hear the sentence embodied +in words. Emily folded her hands over the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> paper in her lap and the +pleasant breakfast-room darkened before her. Mr. Ffrench continued +speaking of Dick, unheard.</p> + +<p>When the long meal was ended and her uncle withdrew to meet Bailey in +the library, Emily escaped outdoors. There was a quaint summer-house +part way down the park, an ancient white pavilion standing beside the +brook that gurgled by on its way to the Hudson, where the young girl +often passed her hours. She went there now, carrying her little +work-basket and the newspaper containing the picture of Lestrange.</p> + +<p>"I will save it," was her thought. "Perhaps I may find better +ones—this does not show his face—but I will have this now. It may be +a long time before I see him."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>But she sat with the embroidery scissors in her hand, nevertheless, +without cutting the reprint. Lestrange would return to the factory, +she never doubted, and all would continue as before, except that she +must not see him. He would understand that it was not possible for +anything else to happen, at least for many years. Perhaps, after Dick +was married—</p> + +<p>The green and gold beauty of the morning hurt her with the memory of +that other sunny morning, when he had so easily taken from her the +task she hated and strove to bear. And he had succeeded, how he had +succeeded! Who else in the world could have so transformed Dick? +Leaning on the table, her round chin in her palm as she gazed down at +the paper in her lap, her fancy slipped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> back to that night on the +Long Island road, when she had first seen his serene genius for +setting all things right. How like him that elimination of Dick, +instead of a romantic and impracticable attempt to escort her himself.</p> + +<p>A bush crackled stiffly at some one's passage; a shadow fell across +her.</p> + +<p>"Caught!" laughed Lestrange's glad, exultant voice. "Since you look at +the portrait, how shall the original fear to present himself? See, I +can match." He held out a card burned at the corners and streaked with +dull red, "The first time I saw your writing, and found my own name +there."</p> + +<p>Amazed, Emily sat up, and met in his glowing face all incarnate joy of +life and youth.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she gasped piteously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You are surprised that I am here? My dear, my dear, after last night +did you think I could be anywhere else?"</p> + +<p>"The race—"</p> + +<p>"I know that track too well to need much practise, and I had the +machine out at dawn. My partner is busy practising this morning, and +I'll be back in a couple of hours. I was afraid," the gray eyes were +so gentle in their brilliancy, "I was afraid you might worry, Emily."</p> + +<p>Serenely he assumed possession of her, and the assumption was very +sweet. He had not touched her, yet Emily had the sensation of brutally +thrusting him away when she spoke:</p> + +<p>"How could I do anything else," she asked with desolation, "since we +must never meet each other any more? Only, you will not go far +away—you will stay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> where I can sometimes see you as we pass? I—I +think I could not bear it to have you go away."</p> + +<p>"Emily!"</p> + +<p>The scissors clinked sharply to the floor as she held out her white +hands in deprecation of his cry; the tears rushed to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"You know, you know! I am not free; I am Emily Ffrench. I can not fail +my uncle and grieve him as his son did. Oh, I will never marry any one +else, and we will hear of each other; I can read in the papers and +Dick will tell me of you. It will be something to be so close, down +there and up here."</p> + +<p>"Emily!"</p> + +<p>"You are not angry? You will not be angry? You know I can do nothing +else, please say you know."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>He came nearer and took both cold little hands in his clasp, bending +to her the shining gravity of his regard.</p> + +<p>"Did you think me such a selfish animal, my dear, that I would have +kissed you when I could not claim you?" he asked. "Did you think I +could forget you were Emily Ffrench; even by moonlight?"</p> + +<p>Her fair head fell back, her dark eyes questioned his.</p> + +<p>"You—mean—"</p> + +<p>"I mean that even your uncle can not deny my inherited quality of +gentleman. I am no millionaire incognito. I have driven racing cars +and managed this factory to earn my living, having no other dependence +than upon myself, but my blood is as old as yours, little girl, if +that means anything."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not to me," she cried, looking up into his eyes. "Not to me, but to +him. I cared for <i>you</i>—"</p> + +<p>He drew her toward him, unresisting, their gaze still on each other. +As from the first, there was no shyness between them, but the strange, +exquisite understanding now made perfect.</p> + +<p>"I was right to come to you," he declared, after a time. "Right to +fear that you were troubled, conscientious lady. But I must go back, +or there will be a fine disturbance at the Beach. And I have shattered +my other plans to insignificant fragments, or you have. If I did not +forget by moonlight that you were Emily Ffrench, I certainly forgot +everything else."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, her softly tinted face bright as his own, her +yellow hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> rumpled into flossy tendrils under the black velvet +ribbon binding it.</p> + +<p>"Everything else?" she echoed. "Is there anything else but this?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing that counts, to me. You for my own, and this good world to +live in—I stand bareheaded before it all. But yet, I told you once +that I had a purpose to accomplish; a purpose now very near +completion. In a few months I meant to leave Ffrenchwood."</p> + +<p>Emily gave a faint cry.</p> + +<p>"Yes, for my work would have been done. Then I fell in love and upset +everything. When I tell Mr. Ffrench that I want you, I will have to +leave at once."</p> + +<p>"Why? You said—"</p> + +<p>"How brave are you, Emily?" he asked. "I said your uncle could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +question my name or birth, but I did not say he would want to give you +to me. Nor will he; unless I am mistaken. Are you going to be brave +enough to come to me, knowing he has no right to complain, since you +and I together have given him Dick?"</p> + +<p>"He does not know you; how can you tell he does not like you?" she +urged.</p> + +<p>"Do you think he likes 'Darling' Lestrange of the race course?"</p> + +<p>The sudden keen demand disconcerted her.</p> + +<p>"I hear a little down there," he added. "I have not been fortunate +with your kinsman. No, it is for you to say whether Ethan Ffrench's +unjust caprice is a bar between us. To me it is none."</p> + +<p>"I thought there was to be no more trouble," she faltered, +distressed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lestrange looked down at her steadily, his gray eyes darkening to an +expression she had never seen.</p> + +<p>"Have I no right?" was his question. "Is there no cancelling of a +claim, is there no subsequent freedom? Is it all no use, Emily?"</p> + +<p>Vaguely awed and frightened, her fingers tightened on his arm in a +panic of surrender.</p> + +<p>"I will come to you, I will come! You know best what is right—I trust +you to tell me. Forgive me, dear, I wanted to—"</p> + +<p>He silenced her, all the light flashing back to his face.</p> + +<p>"A promise; hush! Oh, I shall win to-night with that singing in my +ears. I have more to say to you, but not now. I must see Bailey, +somehow, before I go."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is at the house; let me send him here to you."</p> + +<p>"If you come back with him."</p> + +<p>They laughed together.</p> + +<p>"I will—Do you know," her color deepened rosily, "they all call you +'Darling'; I have never heard your own name."</p> + +<p>"My name is David," Lestrange said quietly, and kissed her for +farewell.</p> + +<p>The earth danced under Emily's feet as she ran across the lawns, the +sun glowed warm, the brook tinkled over the cascades in a very madness +of mirth. At the head of the veranda steps she turned to look once +more at the roof of the white pavilion among the locust trees.</p> + +<p>"Uncle will like you when he knows you," she laughed in her heart. +"Any one <i>must</i> like you."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + +<p>The servant she met in the hall said that Mr. Bailey had gone out, and +Mr. Ffrench also, but separately, the former having taken the short +route across toward the factory. That way Emily went in pursuit, +intending to overtake him with her pony cart.</p> + +<p>But upon reaching the stables, past which the path ran, she found +Bailey himself engaged in an inspection of the limousine in company +with the chauffeur.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to look into her differential, Anderson," he was +pronouncing, when the young girl came beside him.</p> + +<p>"Come, please," she urged breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Come?" repeated Bailey, wheeling, with his slow benevolent smile. +"Sure, Miss Emily; where?"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, not replying until they were safely outside; +then:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To Mr. Lestrange; he is in the pavilion. He wants to see you."</p> + +<p>"To Lestrange!" he almost shouted, halting. "Lestrange, here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. There is time; he says there is time. He is going back as soon +as he sees you."</p> + +<p>"But what's he doing here? What does he mean by risking his neck +without any practice?"</p> + +<p>"He came to see me," she whispered, and stood confessed.</p> + +<p>"God!" said Bailey, quite reverently, after a moment of speechless +stupefaction. "You, and him!"</p> + +<p>She lifted confiding eyes to him, moving nearer.</p> + +<p>"It is a secret, but I wanted you to know because you like us both. +Dick said you loved Mr. Lestrange."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," was the dazed assent.</p> + +<p>"Well, then—But come, he is waiting."</p> + +<p>She was sufficiently unlike the usual Miss Ffrench to bewilder any +one. Bailey dumbly followed her back across the park, carrying his hat +in his hand.</p> + +<p>A short distance from the pavilion Emily stopped abruptly, turning a +startled face to her companion.</p> + +<p>"Some one is there," she said. "Some one is speaking. I forgot that +Uncle Ethan had gone out."</p> + +<p>She heard Bailey catch his breath oddly. Her own pulses began to beat +with heavy irregularity, as a few steps farther brought the two +opposite the open arcade. There they halted, frozen.</p> + +<p>In the place Emily had left, where all her feminine toys still lay, +Mr. Ffrench<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> was seated as one exhausted by the force of overmastering +emotion; his hands clenched on the arms of the chair, his face drawn +with passion. Opposite him stood Lestrange, colorless and still as +Emily had never conceived him, listening in absolute silence to the +bitter address pouring from the other's lips with a low-toned violence +indescribable.</p> + +<p>"I told you then, never again to come here," first fell upon Emily's +conscious hearing. "I supposed you were at least Ffrench enough to +take a dismissal. What do you want here, money? I warned you to live +upon the allowance sent every month to your bankers, for I would pay +no more even to escape the intolerable disgrace of your presence here. +Did you imagine me so deserted that I would accept even you as a +successor?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> Wrong; you are not missed. My nephew Richard takes your +place, and is fit to take it. Go back to Europe and your low-born +wife; there is no lack in my household."</p> + +<p>The voice broke in an excess of savage triumph, and Lestrange took the +pause without movement or gesture.</p> + +<p>"I am going, sir, and I shall never come back," he answered, never +more quietly. "I can take a dismissal, yes. If ever I have wished +peace or hoped for an accord that never existed between us, I go cured +of such folly. But hear this much, since I am arraigned at your bar: I +have never yet disgraced your name or mine unless by the boy's +mischief which sent me from college. The money you speak of, I have +never used; ask Bailey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> of it, if you will." He hesitated, and in the +empty moment there came across the mile of June air the roaring noon +whistle of the factory. Involuntarily he turned his head toward the +call, but as instantly recovered himself from the self-betrayal. +"There is another matter to be arranged, but there is no time now. Nor +even in concluding it will I come here again, sir."</p> + +<p>There was that in his bearing, in the dignified carefulness of +courtesy with which he saluted the other before turning to go, that +checked even Ethan Ffrench. But as Lestrange crossed the threshold of +the little building, Emily ran from the thicket to meet him, her eyes +a dark splendor in her white face, her hands outstretched.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not like this!" she panted. "Not without seeing me! Oh, I might have +guessed—"</p> + +<p>His vivid color and animation returned as he caught her to him, +heedless of witnesses.</p> + +<p>"You dare? My dear, my dear, not even a question? There is no one like +you. Say, shall I take you now, or send Dick for you after the race?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench exclaimed some inarticulate words, but neither heard him.</p> + +<p>"Send Dick," Emily answered, her eyes on the gray eyes above her. +"Send Dick—I understand, I will come."</p> + +<p>He kissed her once, then she drew back and he went down the terraces +toward the gates. As Emily sank down on the bench by the pavilion +door, Bailey brushed past her, running after the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> straight, lithe +figure that went steadily on out of sight among the huge trees planted +and tended by five generations of Ffrenches.</p> + +<p>When the vistas of the park were empty, Emily slowly turned to face +her uncle.</p> + +<p>"You love David Ffrench?" he asked, his voice thin and harsh.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered. She had no need to ask if Lestrange were meant.</p> + +<p>"He is married to some woman of the music-halls."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"How do you know? He has told you?"</p> + +<p>She lifted to him the superb confidence of her glance, although +nervous tremors shook her in wavelike succession.</p> + +<p>"If he had been married, he would not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> have made me care for him. He +has asked me to be his wife."</p> + +<p>They were equally strange to each other in these new characters, and +equally spent by emotion. Neither moving, they sat opposite each other +in silence. So Bailey found them when he came back later, to take his +massive stand in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his strong +jaw set.</p> + +<p>"I think that things are kind of mixed up here, Mr. Ffrench," he +stated grimly. "I guess I'm the one to straighten them out a bit; I've +loved Mr. David from the time he was a kid and never saw him get a +square deal yet. You asked him what he was doing here—I'll tell you; +he is Lestrange."</p> + +<p>There is a degree of amazement which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> precludes speech; Mr. Ffrench +looked back at his partner, mute.</p> + +<p>"He is Lestrange. He never meant you to know; he'd have left without +your ever knowing, but for Miss Emily. I guess I don't need to remind +you of what he's done; if it hadn't been for him we might have closed +our doors some day. He understands the business as none of us +back-number, old-fashioned ones do; he took hold and shook some life +into it. We can make cars, but he can make people buy them. +Advertising! Why, just that fool picture he drew on the back of a pad, +one day, of a row of thermometers up to one hundred forty, with the +sign 'Mercuries are at the top,' made more people notice."</p> + +<p>Bailey cleared his throat. "He was al<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>ways making people notice, and +laughing while he did it. He's risked his neck on every course going, +to bring our cars in first, he's lent his fame as a racing driver to +help us along. And now everything is fixed the way we want, he's +thrown out. What did he do it for? He thought he needed to square +accounts with you, for being born, I suppose; so when he heard how +things were going with us he came to me and offered his help. At +least, that's what he said. I believe he came because he couldn't bear +to see the place go under."</p> + +<p>There was a skein of blue silk swinging over the edge of the table. +Mr. Ffrench picked it up and replaced it in Emily's work-basket before +replying.</p> + +<p>"If this remarkable story is true," he began, accurately precise in +accent.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't need me to tell you it is," retorted Bailey. "You know what +my new manager's been doing; why, you disliked him without seeing him, +but you had to admit his good work. And I heard you talking about his +allowance, Mr. Ffrench. He never touched it, not from the first; it +piled up for six years. Last April, when we needed cash in a hurry, he +drew it out and gave it to me to buy aluminum. When he left here first +he drove a taxicab in New York City until he got into racing work and +made Darling Lestrange famous all over the continent. I guess it went +pretty hard for a while; if he'd been the things you called him, he'd +have gone to the devil alone in New York. But, he didn't."</p> + +<p>An oriole darted in one arcade and out again with a musical whir of +wings. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> clink of glass and silver sounded from the house windows +with a pleasant cheeriness and suggestion of comfort and plenty.</p> + +<p>"He made good," Bailey concluded thoughtfully. "But it sounded queer +to me to hear you tell him you didn't want him around because Mr. Dick +took his place. I know, and Miss Emily knows, that Dick Ffrench was no +use on earth for any place until Mr. David took him in hand and made +him fit to live. That's all, I guess, that I had to say; I'll get back +to work." He turned, but paused to glance around. "It's going to be +pretty dull at the factory for me. And between us we've sent Lestrange +to the track with a nice set of nerves."</p> + +<p>His retreating footsteps died away to leave the noon hush unbroken. As +be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>fore, uncle and niece were left opposite each other, the crumpled +newspaper where Lestrange's name showed in heavy type still lying on +the floor between them.</p> + +<p>The effect of Bailey's final sentence had been to leave Emily dizzied +by apprehension. But when Mr. Ffrench rose and passed out, she aroused +to look up at him eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she faltered.</p> + +<p>Disregarding or unseeing her outstretched hand, he went on and left +her there alone. And then Emily dared rescue the newspaper.</p> + +<p>"A substitute," she whispered. "A substitute," and laid her wet cheek +against the pictured driver.</p> + +<p>No one lunched at the Ffrench home that day, except the servants. Near +three o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Ffrench<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> came back to the pavilion +where Emily still sat.</p> + +<p>"Go change your gown," he commanded, in his usual tone. "We will start +now. I have sent for Bailey and ordered Anderson to bring the +automobile."</p> + +<p>"Start?" she wondered, bewildered.</p> + +<p>He met her gaze with a stately repellence of comment.</p> + +<p>"For the Beach. I understand this race lasts twenty-four hours. Have +you any objection?"</p> + +<p>Objection to being near David! Emily sprang to her feet.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> +<h2>VIII</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_s.jpg" alt="S" width="36" height="50" /></div> +<p>ix o'clock was the hour set for the start of the Beach race. And it +was just seventeen minutes past five when Dick Ffrench, hanging in a +frenzy of anxiety over the paddock fence circling the inside of the +mile oval, uttered something resembling a howl and rushed to the gate +to signal his recreant driver. From the opposite side of the track +Lestrange waved gay return, making his way through the officials and +friends who pressed around him to shake hands or slap his shoulder +caressingly, jesting and questioning, calling directions and advice. A +brass band played noisily in the grand-stand, where the crowd<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> heaved +and surged; the racing machines were roaring in their camps.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? Where were you?" cried Dick, when at last +Lestrange crossed the course to the central field. "The cars are going +out now for the preliminary run. Rupert's nearly crazy, snarling at +everybody, and the other man has been getting ready to start instead +of you."</p> + +<p>"Well, he can get unready," smiled Lestrange. "Keep cool, Ffrench; +I've got half an hour and I could start now. I'm ready."</p> + +<p>He was ready; clad in the close-fitting khaki costume whose immaculate +daintiness gave no hint of the certainty that before the first six +hours ended it would be a wreck of yellow dust and oil. As he paused +in running an appraising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> glance down the street-like row of tents, +the white-clothed driver of a spotless white car shot out on his way +to the track, but halted opposite the latest arrival to stretch down a +cordial hand.</p> + +<p>"I hoped a trolley-car had bitten you," he shouted. "The rest of us +would have more show if you got lost on the way, Darling."</p> + +<p>The boyish driver at the next tent looked up as they passed, and came +over grinning to give his clasp.</p> + +<p>"Get a move on; what you been doin' all day, dear child? They've been +givin' your manager sal volatile to hold him still." He nodded at the +agitated Dick in ironic commiseration.</p> + +<p>"Go get out your car, Darling; I want to beat you," chaffed the next +in line.</p> + +<p>"'Strike up the band, here comes a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> driver,'" sang another, with an +entrancing French accent.</p> + +<p>Laughing, retorting, shaking hands with each comrade rival, Lestrange +went down the row to his own tent. At his approach a swarm of +mechanics from the factory stood back from the long, low, gray car, +the driver who was to relieve him during the night and day ordeal +slipped down from the seat and unmasked.</p> + +<p>"He's here," announced Dick superfluously. "Rupert—where's Rupert? +Don't tell me <i>he's</i> gone now! Lestrange—"</p> + +<p>But Rupert was already emerging from the tent with Lestrange's +gauntlets and cap, his expression a study in the sardonic.</p> + +<p>"It hurts me fierce to think how you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> must have hurried," he observed. +"Did you walk both ways, or only all three? I'm no Eve, but I'd give a +snake an apple to know where you've been all day."</p> + +<p>"Would you?" queried Lestrange provokingly, clasping the goggles +before his eyes. "Well, I've spent the last two hours on the Coney +Island beach, about three squares from here, watching the kiddies play +in the sand. I didn't feel like driving just then. It was mighty +soothing, too."</p> + +<p>Rupert stared at him, a dry unwilling smile slowly crinkling his dark +face.</p> + +<p>"Maybe, Darling," he drawled, and turned to make his own preparations.</p> + +<p>Fascinated and useless, Dick looked on at the methodical flurry of the +next few moments; until Lestrange was in his seat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> and Rupert swung in +beside him. Then a gesture summoned him to the side of the machine.</p> + +<p>"I'll run in again before we race, of course," said Lestrange to him, +above the deafening noise of the motor. "Be around here; I want to see +you."</p> + +<p>Rupert leaned out, all good-humor once more as he pointed to the +machine.</p> + +<p>"Got a healthy talk, what?" he exulted.</p> + +<p>The car darted forward.</p> + +<p>A long round of applause welcomed Lestrange's swooping advent on the +track. Handkerchiefs and scarfs were waved; his name passed from mouth +to mouth.</p> + +<p>"Popular, ain't he?" chuckled a mechanic next to Dick. "They don't +forget that Georgia trick, no, sir."</p> + +<p>It was not many times that the cars could circle the track. Quarter of +six<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> blew from whistles and klaxons, signal flags sent the cars to +their camps for the last time before the race.</p> + +<p>"Come here," Lestrange beckoned to Dick, as he brought his machine +shuddering to a standstill before the tent. "Here, close—we've got a +moment while they fill tanks."</p> + +<p>He unhooked his goggles and leaned over as Dick came beside the wheel, +the face so revealed bright and quiet in the sunset glow of color.</p> + +<p>"One never knows what may happen," he said. "I'd rather tell you now +than chance your feeling afterward that I didn't treat you quite +squarely in keeping still. I hope you won't take it as my father did; +we've been good chums, you and I. I'm your cousin, David Ffrench."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> + +<p>The moment furnished no words. Dick leaned against the car, absolutely +limp.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I'm not going back to Ffrenchwood. After this race I shall +go to the Duplex Company; I used to be with them and they've wanted me +back. Your company can get along without me, now all is running +well—indeed, Mr. Ffrench has dismissed me." His firm lip bent a +little more firmly. "The work I was doing is in your hands and +Bailey's; see it through. Unless you too want to break off with me, +we'll have more time to talk over this."</p> + +<p>"Break off!" Dick straightened his chubby figure. "Break off with you, +Les—"</p> + +<p>"Go on. My name is Lestrange now and always."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>A shriek from the official klaxon summoned the racers, Rupert swung +back to his seat. Dick reached up his hand to the other in the first +really dignified moment of his life.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you're my kin, Lestrange," he said. "I've liked you anyhow, +but I'm glad, just the same. And I don't care what rot they say of +you. Take care of yourself."</p> + +<p>Lestrange bared his hand to return the clasp, his warm smile flashing +to his cousin; then the swirl of preparation swept between them and +Dick next saw him as a part of one of the throbbing, flaming row of +machines before the judges' stand.</p> + +<p>It was not a tranquilizing experience for an amateur to witness the +start, when the fourteen powerful cars sprang simul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>taneously for the +first curve, struggling for possession of the narrow track in a wheel +to wheel contest where one mistouch meant the wreck of many. After +that first view, Dick sat weakly down on an oil barrel and watched the +race in a state of fascinated endurance.</p> + +<p>The golden and violet sunset melted pearl-like into the black cup of +night. The glare of many searchlights made the track a glistening band +of white around which circled the cars, themselves gemmed with white +and crimson lamps. The cheers of the people as the lead was taken by +one favorite or another, the hum of voices, the music and uproar of +the machines blended into a web of sound indescribable. The spectacle +was at once ultramodern and classic in antiquity of conception.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>At eight o'clock Lestrange came flying in, sent off the track to have +a lamp relighted.</p> + +<p>"Water," he demanded tersely, in the sixty seconds of the stop, and +laughed openly at Dick's expression while he took the cup.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you light it out there?" asked the novice, infected by the +speed fever around him.</p> + +<p>"Forgot our matches," Rupert flung over his shoulder, as they dashed +out again.</p> + +<p>An oil-smeared mechanic patronizingly explained:</p> + +<p>"You can't have cars manicuring all over the track and people tripping +over 'em. You get sent off to light up, and if you don't go they fine +you laps made."</p> + +<p>Machines darted in and out from their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> camps at intervals, each waking +a frenzy of excitement among its men. At ten o'clock the Mercury car +came in again, this time limping with a flat tire, to be fallen on by +its mechanics.</p> + +<p>"We're leading, but we'll lose by this," said Lestrange, slipping out +to relax and meditatively contemplating the alternate driver, who was +standing across the camp. "Ffrench, at twelve I'll have to come in to +rest some, and turn my machine over to the other man. And I won't have +him wrecking it for me. I want you, as owner, to give him absolute +orders to do no speeding; let him hold a fifty-two mile an hour +average until I take the wheel again."</p> + +<p>"Me?"</p> + +<p>"I can't do it. You, of course."</p> + +<p>"You could," Dick answered. "I've<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> been thinking how you and I will +run that factory together. It's all stuff about your going away; why +should you? You and your father take me as junior partner; you know +I'm not big enough for anything else."</p> + +<p>"You're man's size," Lestrange assured, a hand on his shoulder. +"But—it won't do. I'll not forget the offer, though, never."</p> + +<p>"All on!" a dozen voices signaled; men scattered in every direction as +Lestrange sprang to his place.</p> + +<p>The hours passed on the wheels of excitement and suspense. When +Lestrange came in again, only a watch convinced Dick that it was +midnight.</p> + +<p>"You gave the order?" Lestrange asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>He descended, taking off his mask and showing a face white with +fatigue under the streaks of dust and grime.</p> + +<p>"I'll be all right in half an hour," he nodded, in answer to Dick's +exclamation. "Send one of the boys for coffee, will you, please? +Rupert needs some, too. Here, one of you others, ask one of those idle +doctor's apprentices to come over with a fresh bandage; my arm's a +trifle untidy."</p> + +<p>In fact, his right sleeve was wet and red, where the strain of driving +had reopened the injury of the day before. But he would not allow Dick +to speak of it.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to spend an hour or two resting. Come in, Ffrench, and +we'll chat in the intervals, if you like."</p> + +<p>"And Rupert? Where's he?" Dick wondered, peering into the dark with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +vague impression of lurking dangers on every side.</p> + +<p>"He's hurried in out of the night air," reassured familiar accents; a +small figure lounged across into the light, making vigorous use of a +dripping towel. "Tell Darling I feel faint and I'm going over to that +grand-stand café <i>a la</i> car to get some pie. I'll be back in time to +read over my last lesson from the chauffeurs' correspondence school. +Oh, see what's here!"</p> + +<p>A telegraph messenger boy had come up to Dick.</p> + +<p>"Richard Ffrench?" he verified. "Sign, please."</p> + +<p>The message was from New York.</p> + +<p>"All coming down," Dick read. "Limousine making delay. Wire me St. +Royal of race. Bailey."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>Far from pleased, young Ffrench hurriedly wrote the desired answer and +gave it to the boy to be sent. But he thrust the yellow envelope into +his pocket before turning to the tent where Lestrange was drinking +cheap black coffee while an impatient young surgeon hovered near.</p> + +<p>The hour's rest was characteristically spent. Washed, bandaged, and +refreshed, Lestrange dropped on a cot in the back of the tent and +pushed a roll of motor garments beneath his head for a pillow. There +he intermittently spoke to his companion of whatever the moment +suggested; listening to every sound of the race and interspersing +acute comment, starting up whenever the voice of his own machine +hinted that the driver was disobeying instructions or the shrill +klaxon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> gave warning of trouble. But through it all Dick gathered much +of the family story.</p> + +<p>"My mother was a Californian," Lestrange once said, coming back from a +tour of inspection. "She was twenty times as much alive as any Ffrench +that ever existed, I've been told. I fancy she passed that quality on +to me—you know she died when I was born—for I nearly drove the +family mad. They expected the worst of me, and I gave the best worst I +had. But," he turned to Dick the clear candor of his smile, "it was +rather a decent worst, I honestly believe. The most outrageous thing I +ever did was to lead a set of seniors in hoisting a cow into the +Dean's library, one night, and so get myself expelled from college."</p> + +<p>"A cow?" the other echoed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"A fat cow, and it mooed," he stuffed the pillow into a more +comfortable position. "Is that our car running in? No, it's just +passing. If Frank doesn't wreck my machine, I'll get this race. And +then, the same week, my chum and room-mate ran away with a Doraflora +girl of some variety show and married her. I was romantic myself at +twenty-one, so I helped him through with it. He was wealthy and she +was pretty; it seemed to fit. I believe they've stayed married ever +since, by the way. But somehow the reporters got affairs mixed and +published me as the bridegroom. Have you got a cigar? I smoke about +three times a year, and this is one of them. Yes, there was a fine +scene when I went home that night, a Broadway melodrama. I lost my +temper easier then; by the time my father<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> and uncle gave me time to +speak, I was too angry to defend myself and set them right. I supposed +they would learn the truth by the next day, anyhow. And I left home +for good in a dinner-coat and raglan, with something under ten dollars +in odd change. What's that!"</p> + +<p>"That" was the harsh alarm of the official klaxon, coupled with the +cry of countless voices. The ambulance gong clanged as Lestrange +sprang to his feet and reached the door.</p> + +<p>"Which car?" he called.</p> + +<p>Rupert answered first:</p> + +<p>"Not ours. Number eight's burning up after a smash on the far turn."</p> + +<p>"Jack's car," identified Lestrange, and stood for an instant. "Go flag +Frank; I'll take the machine again myself. It's one o'clock, and I've +got to win this race."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>Several men ran across to the track in compliance. Lestrange turned to +make ready, but paused beside the awed Dick to look over the infield +toward the flaming blotch against the dark sky.</p> + +<p>"He was in to change a tire ten minutes ago," observed Rupert, beside +them. "'Tell Lestrange I'm doin' time catchin' him,' he yelled to me. +Here's hoping his broncho machine pitched him clear from the +fireworks."</p> + +<p>When the Mercury car swung in, a few moments later, Lestrange lingered +for a last word to Dick.</p> + +<p>"I'm engaged to Emily," he said gravely. "I don't know what she will +hear of me; if anything happens, I've told you the truth. I'm old +enough to see it now. And I tried to square things."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> +<h2>IX</h2> + +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_i.jpg" alt="I" width="25" height="50" /></div> +<p>n the delicate, fresh June dawn, the Ffrench limousine crept into the +Beach inclosure.</p> + +<p>"We're here," said Bailey, to his traveling companions. "You can't +park the car front by the fence; Mr. David might see you and kill +himself by a misturn. Come up to the grand-stand seats."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench got out in silence and assisted Emily to descend; a pale +and wide-eyed Emily behind her veil.</p> + +<p>"The boys were calling extras," she suggested faintly. "They said +three accidents on the track."</p> + +<p>Bailey turned to a blue and gold official passing.</p> + +<p>"Number seven all right?" he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"On the track, Lestrange driving," was the prompt response. "Leading +by thirty-two miles."</p> + +<p>A little of Emily's color rushed back. Satisfied, Bailey led the way +to the tiers of seats, almost empty at this hour. Pearly, +unsubstantial in the young light, lay the huge oval meadow and the +track edging it. Of the fourteen cars starting, nine were still +circling their course, one temporarily in its camp for supplies.</p> + +<p>"I've sent over for Mr. Dick," Bailey informed the other two. "He's +been here, and he can tell what's doing. Four cars are out of the +race. There's Mr. David, coming!"</p> + +<p>A gray machine shot around the west curve, hurtled roaring down the +straight stretch past the stand and crossed before them, the +mechanician rising in his seat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> to catch the pendant linen streamers +and wipe the dust from the driver's goggles in preparation for the +"death turn" ahead. There was a series of rapid explosions as the +driver shut off his motor, the machine swerved almost facing the +infield fence and slid around the bend with a skidding lurch that +threw a cloud of soil high in the air. Emily cried out, Mr. Ffrench +half rose in his place.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" dryly queried Bailey. "He's been doing that all +night; and a mighty pretty turn he makes, too. He's been doing it for +about five years, in fact, to earn his living, only we didn't see him. +Here goes another."</p> + +<p>Mr. Ffrench put on his pince-nez, preserving the dignity of outward +composure. Emily saw and heard nothing; she was following Lestrange +around the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> far sides of the course, around until again he flashed +past her, repeating his former feat with appalling exactitude.</p> + +<p>It was hardly more than five minutes before Dick came hurrying toward +them; cross, tired, dust-streaked and gasolene-scented.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why you wanted to come," he began, before he reached +them. "I'm busy enough now. We're leading; if Lestrange holds out +we'll win. But he's driving alone; Frank went out an hour ago, on the +second relief, when he went through the paddock fence and broke his +leg. It didn't hurt the machine a bit, except tires, but it lost us +twenty-six laps. And it leaves Lestrange with thirteen steady hours at +the wheel. He says he can do it."</p> + +<p>"He's fit?" Bailey questioned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dick turned a peevish regard upon him.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you call fit. He says he is. His hands are +blistered already, his right arm has been bandaged twice where he hurt +it pulling me away from the gear-cutter yesterday, and he's had three +hours' rest out of the last eleven. See that heap of junk over there; +that's where the Alan car burned up last night and sent its driver and +mechanician to the hospital. I suppose if Lestrange isn't fit and +makes a miscue we'll see something like that happen to him and +Rupert."</p> + +<p>"No!" Emily cried piteously.</p> + +<p>Remorse clutched Dick.</p> + +<p>"I forgot you, cousin," he apologized. "Don't go off; Lestrange swears +he feels fine and gibes at me for worrying. Don't look like that."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Richard, you will go down and order our car withdrawn from the race," +Mr. Ffrench stated, with his most absolute finality. "This has +continued long enough. If we had not been arrested in New York for +exceeding the speed limit, I should have been here to end this scene +at midnight."</p> + +<p>Stunned, his nephew stared at him.</p> + +<p>"Withdraw!"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. And desire David to come here."</p> + +<p>"I won't," said Dick flatly. "If you want to rub it into Lestrange +that way, send Bailey. And I say it's a confounded shame."</p> + +<p>"Richard!"</p> + +<p>His round face ablaze, Dick thrust his hands in his pockets, facing +his uncle stubbornly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>"After his splendid fight, to stop him now? Do you know how they take +being put out, those fellows? Why, when the Italian car went off the +track for good, last night, with its chain tangled up with everything +underneath, its driver sat down and cried. And you'd come down on +Lestrange when he's winning—I won't do it, I won't! Send Bailey; I +can't tell him."</p> + +<p>"If you want to discredit the car and its driver, Mr. Ffrench, you can +do it without me," slowly added Bailey. "But it won't be any use to +send for Mr. David, because he won't come."</p> + +<p>The autocrat of his little world looked from one rebel to the other, +confronted with the unprecedented.</p> + +<p>"If I wish to withdraw him, it is to place him out of danger," he +retorted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> with asperity. "Not because I wish to mortify him, +naturally. Is that clear? Does he want to pass the next thirteen hours +under this ordeal?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what he wants," answered Dick. "He wants to be let +alone. It seems to me he's earned that."</p> + +<p>Ethan Ffrench opened his lips, and closed them again without speech. +It had not been his life's habit to let people alone and the art was +acquired with difficulty.</p> + +<p>"I admit I do not comprehend the feelings you describe," he conceded, +at last. "But there is one person who has the right to decide whether +David shall continue this risk of his life. Emily, do you wish the car +withdrawn?"</p> + +<p>There was a gasp from the other two men.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I?" the young girl exclaimed, amazed. "I can call him here—safe—"</p> + +<p>Her voice died out as Lestrange's car roared past, overtaking two +rivals on the turn and sliding between them with an audacity that +provoked rounds of applause from the spectators. To call him in from +that, to have him safe with her—the mere thought was a delight that +caught her breath. Yet, she knew Lestrange.</p> + +<p>The three men watched her in keen suspense. The Mercury car had passed +twice again before she raised her head, and in that space of a hundred +seconds Emily reached the final unselfishness.</p> + +<p>"What David wants," she said. "Uncle, what David wants."</p> + +<p>"You're a brick!" cried Dick, in a passion of relief. "Emily, you're a +brick!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>She looked at him with eyes he never forgot.</p> + +<p>"If anything happens to him, I hope I die too," she answered, and drew +the silk veil across her face.</p> + +<p>"Go back, Mr. Dick, you're no good here," advised Bailey, in the +pause. "I guess Miss Emily is right, Mr. Ffrench; we've got nothing to +do but look on, for David Ffrench was wiped out to make Darling +Lestrange."</p> + +<p>Having left the decision to Emily, it was in character that her uncle +offered no remonstrance when she disappointed his wish. Nor did he +reply to Bailey's reminder of who had sent David Ffrench to the track. +But he did adopt the suggestion to look on, and there was sufficient +to see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Lestrange came into his camp for oil and gasolene, near eight +o'clock, Dick seized the brief halt, the first in three hours.</p> + +<p>"Emily's up in the stand," he announced. "Send her a word, old man; +and don't get reckless in front of her."</p> + +<p>"Emily?" echoed Lestrange, too weary for astonishment. "Give me a +pencil. No, I can't take off my gauntlet; it's glued fast. I'll +manage. Rupert, go take an hour's rest and send me the other +mechanician."</p> + +<p>"I can't get off my car; it's glued fast," Rupert confided, leaning +over the back of the machine to appropriate a sandwich from the basket +a man was carrying to the neighboring camp. "Go on with your +correspondence, dearest."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>So resting the card Dick supplied on the steering-wheel, Lestrange +wrote a difficult two lines.</p> + +<p>He was out again on the track when Dick brought the message to Emily.</p> + +<p>"I just told him you were here, cousin," he whispered at her ear, and +dropped the card in her lap.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I'll enjoy this more than ever, with you here," she read. +"It's the right place for my girl. I'll give you the cup for +our first dinner table, to-night.</p></blockquote> + +<p class="f1">"<span class="smcap">David.</span>"</p> + +<p>Emily lifted her face. The tragedy of the scene was gone, Lestrange's +eyes laughed at her out of a mist. The sky was blue, the sunshine +golden; the merry crowds commencing to pour in woke carnival in her +heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He said to tell you the machine was running magnificently," +supplemented Dick, "and not to insult his veteran reputation by +getting nervous. He's coming by—look."</p> + +<p>He was coming by; and, although unable to look toward the grand-stand, +he raised his hand in salute as he passed, to the one he knew was +watching. Emily flushed rosily, her dark eyes warm and shining.</p> + +<p>"I can wait," she sighed gratefully. "Dickie, I can wait until it +ends, now."</p> + +<p>Dick went back.</p> + +<p>The hours passed. One more car went out of the race under the grinding +test; there were the usual incidents of blown-out tires and temporary +withdrawals for repairs. Twice Mr. Ffrench sent his partner and Emily +to the restaurant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> below, tolerating no protests, but he himself never +left his seat. Perfectly composed, his expression perfectly +self-contained, he watched his son.</p> + +<p>The day grew unbearably hot toward afternoon, a heat rather of July +than June. After a visit to his camp Lestrange reappeared without the +suffocating mask and cap, driving bareheaded, with only the narrow +goggles crossing his face. The change left visible the drawn pallor of +exhaustion under stains of dust and oil, his rolled-back sleeves +disclosed the crimson bandage on his right arm and the fact that his +left wrist was tightly wound with linen where swollen and strained +muscles rebelled at the long trial.</p> + +<p>"He's been driving for nineteen hours," said Dick, climbing up to his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +party through the excited crowd. "Two hours more to six o'clock. +Listen to the mob when he passes!"</p> + +<p>The injunction was unnecessary. As the sun slanted low the enthusiasm +grew to fever. This was a crowd of connoisseurs—motorists, +chauffeurs, automobile lovers and drivers—they knew what was being +done before them. The word passed that Lestrange was in his twentieth +hour; people climbed on seats to cheer him as he went by. When one of +his tires blew out, in the opening of the twenty-first hour of his +driving and the twenty-fourth of the race, the great shout of sympathy +and encouragement that went up shook the grand-stand to its cement +foundations.</p> + +<p>Neither Lestrange nor Rupert left his seat while that tire was +changed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + +<p>"If we did I ain't sure we'd get back," Rupert explained to Dick, who +hovered around them agitatedly. "If I'd thought Darling's mechanician +would get in for this, I'd have taken in sewing for a living. How much +longer?"</p> + +<p>"Half an hour."</p> + +<p>"Well, watch us finish."</p> + +<p>A renewed burst of applause greeted the Mercury car's return to the +track. Men were standing watch in hand to count the last moments, +their eyes on the bulletin board where the reeled-off miles were being +registered. Two of the other machines were fighting desperately for +second place, hopeless of rivaling Lestrange, and after them sped the +rest.</p> + +<p>"The finish!" some one suddenly called. "The last lap!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>Dick was hanging over the paddock fence when the car shot by amidst +braying klaxons, motor horns, cheers, and the clashing music of the +band. Frantic, the people hailed Lestrange as the black and white +checked flag dropped before him in proclamation of his victory and the +ended race.</p> + +<p>Rupert raised his arms above his head in the signal of acknowledgment, +as they flew across the line and swept on to complete the circle to +their camp. Lestrange slackened speed to take the dangerous, deeply +furrowed turn for the last time, his car poised for the curving flight +under his guidance—then the watching hundreds saw the driver's hands +slip from the steering-wheel as he reached for the brake. Straight +across the track the machine dashed, instead of following the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> bend, +crashed through the barrier, and rolled over on its side in the green +meadow grass.</p> + +<p>"The steering-knuckle!" Bailey groaned, as the place burst into uproar +around them. "The wheel—I saw it turn uselessly in his hands!"</p> + +<p>"They're up!" cried a dozen voices. "No, one's up and one's under." +"Who's caught in the wreck—Lestrange or his man?"</p> + +<p>But before the people who surged over the track, breaking all +restraint, before the electric ambulance, Dick Ffrench reached the +marred thing that had been the Mercury car. It was Lestrange who had +painfully struggled to one knee beside the machine, fighting hard for +breath to speak.</p> + +<p>"Take the car off Rupert," he panted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> at Dick's cry of relief on +seeing him. "I'm all right—take the car off Rupert."</p> + +<p>The next instant they were surrounded, overwhelmed with eager aid. The +ambulance came up and a surgeon precipitated himself toward Lestrange.</p> + +<p>"Stand back," the surgeon commanded generally. "Are you trying to +smother him? Stand back."</p> + +<p>But it was he who halted before a gesture from Lestrange, who leaned +on Dick and a comrade from the camp.</p> + +<p>"Go over there, to Rupert."</p> + +<p>"You first—"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>There was nothing to do except yield. Shrugging his shoulders, the +surgeon paused the necessary moment. A moment only; there was a +scattering of the hushed workers, a metallic crash.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>From the space the car had covered a small figure uncoiled, +lizardlike, and staggered unsteadily erect.</p> + +<p>"Where's Darling Lestrange?" was hurled viciously across the silence. +"Gee, you're a slow bunch of workers! Where's Lestrange?"</p> + +<p>The tumult that broke loose swept all to confusion. And after all it +was Lestrange who was put in the surgeon's care, while Rupert rode +back to the camp on the driver's seat of the ambulance.</p> + +<p>"Tell Emily I'll come over to her as soon as I'm fit to look at," was +the message Lestrange gave Dick. "And when you go back to the factory, +have your steering-knuckles strengthened."</p> + +<p>Dick exceeded his commission by transmitting the speech entire; +repeating the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> first part to Emily with all affectionate solicitude, +and flinging the second cuttingly at his uncle and Bailey.</p> + +<p>"The doctors say he ought to be in bed, but he won't go," he +concluded. "No, you can't see him until they get through patching him +up at the hospital tent; they put every one out except Rupert. <i>He</i> +hasn't a scratch, after having a ninety Mercury on top of him. You're +to come over to our camp, Emily, and wait for Lestrange. I suppose +everybody had better come."</p> + +<p>It was a curious and an elevating thing to see Dickie assume command +of his family, but no one demurred. An official, recognizing in him +Lestrange's manager, cleared a way for the party through the noisy +press of departing peo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>ple and automobiles. The very track was blocked +by a crowd too great for control.</p> + +<p>The sunset had long faded, night had settled over the motordrome and +the electric lamps had been lit in the tents, before there came a stir +and murmur in the Mercury camp.</p> + +<p>"Don't skid, the ground's wet," cautioned a voice outside the door. +"Steady!"</p> + +<p>Emily started up, Dick sprang to open the canvas, and Lestrange +crossed the threshold. Lestrange, colorless, his right arm in a sling, +his left wound with linen from wrist to elbow, and bearing a heavy +purple bruise above his temple, but with the brightness of victory +flashing above all weariness like a dancing flame.</p> + +<p>"Sweetheart!" he laughed, as Emily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> ran to meet him, heedless of all +things except that he stood within touch once more. "My dear, I told +them not to frighten you. Why, Emily—"</p> + +<p>For as he put his one available arm about her, she hid her wet eyes on +his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I am so happy," she explained breathlessly. "It is only that."</p> + +<p>"You should not have been here at all, my dear. But it is good to see +you. Who brought you? Bailey?" catching sight of the man beside Dick. +"Good, I wanted some one to help me; Rupert and I have got to find a +hotel and we're not very active."</p> + +<p>Emily would have slipped away from the clasp, scarlet with returning +recollection, but Lestrange detained her to meet his shining eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The race is over," he reminded, for her ears alone. "I'm going to +keep you, if you'll stay."</p> + +<p>He turned to take a limping step, offering his hand cordially to the +speechless Bailey, and faced for the first time the other man present.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Ethan Ffrench, "that there need be no question of +hotels. We have not understood each other, but you have the right to +Ffrenchwood's hospitality. If you can travel, we will go there."</p> + +<p>"No," answered David Ffrench, as quietly. "Never. You owe me nothing, +sir. If I have worked in your factory, I took the workman's wages for +it; if I have won honors for your car, I also won the prize-money +given to the driver. I never meant so to establish any claim upon +Ffrenchwood or you. I believe we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> stand even. Dick has taken my place, +happily; Emily and I will go on our own road."</p> + +<p>They looked at each other, the likeness between them most apparent, in +the similar determination of mood which wiped laughter and warmth from +the younger man's face. However coldly phrased and dictatorially +spoken, it was an apology which Mr. Ffrench had offered and which had +been declined. But—he had watched Lestrange all day; he did not lift +the gauntlet.</p> + +<p>"You are perfectly free," he conceded, "which gives you the +opportunity of being generous."</p> + +<p>His son moved, flushing through his pallor.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would not put it that way, sir," he objected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There is no other way. I have been wrong and I have no control over +you; will you come home?"</p> + +<p>There was no other argument but that that could have succeeded, and +the three who knew Lestrange knew that could not fail.</p> + +<p>"You want me because I am a Ffrench," David rebelled in the final +protest. "You have a substitute."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I want you otherwise. And we will not speak in passion; there +can be no substitute for you."</p> + +<p>"Ffrench and Ffrench," murmured Dick coaxingly. "We can run that +factory, Lestrange!"</p> + +<p>"There's more than steering-knuckles needing your eye on them. And you +love the place, Mr. David," said Bailey from his corner.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>From one to the other David's glance went, to rest on Emily's +delicate, earnest face in its setting of yellow-bronze curls. Full and +straight her dark eyes answered his, the convent-bred Emily's answer +to his pride and old resentment and new reluctance to yield his +liberty.</p> + +<p>"After all, you were born a Ffrench," she reminded, her soft accents +just audible. "If that is your work?"</p> + +<p>Very slowly David turned to his father.</p> + +<p>"I never learned to do things by halves," he said. "If you want me, +sir—"</p> + +<p>And Ethan Ffrench understood, and first offered his hand.</p> + +<p>Rupert was discovered asleep in a camp-chair outside the tent, a few +minutes later, when Dick went in search of him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The limousine's waiting," his awakener informed him. "You don't feel +bad, do you?"</p> + +<p>The mechanician rose cautiously, wincing.</p> + +<p>"Well, if every joint in my chassis wasn't sore, I'd feel better," he +admitted grimly. "But I'm still running. What did you kiss me awake +for, when I need my sleeps?"</p> + +<p>"Did you suppose we could get Lestrange home without you, Jack +Rupert?"</p> + +<p>"I ain't supposing you could. I'm ready."</p> + +<p>The rest of the party were already in the big car, with one exception.</p> + +<p>"Take a last look, Rupert," bade David, as he stood in the dark +paddock. "We're retired; come help me get used to it."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> + +<p>Rupert passed a glance over the deserted track.</p> + +<p>"I guess my sentiment-tank has given out," he sweetly acknowledged. +"The Mercury factory sounds pretty good to me, Darling. And I guess we +can make a joy ride out of living, on any track, if we enter for it."</p> + +<p>"I guess we can," laughed David Ffrench. "Get in opposite Emily. We're +going home to try."</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Mercury, by Eleanor M. 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Ingram + +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 www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flying Mercury + +Author: Eleanor M. Ingram + +Illustrator: Edmund Frederick + Bertha Stuart + +Release Date: June 19, 2009 [EBook #29166] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLYING MERCURY *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Suzanne Shell, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + [Illustration: THE FLYING MERCURY] + + + THE + + FLYING + + MERCURY + + + + By + + ELEANOR M INGRAM + + + Author of + THE GAME AND THE CANDLE + + + + With Illustrations by + + EDMUND FREDERICK + + + Decorations by + + BERTHA STUART + + + + + + INDIANAPOLIS + + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + PUBLISHERS + + + + COPYRIGHT 1910 + + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + * * * * * + + + + +_To_ + +MY MOST DELIGHTFUL COMRADES AND +INDULGENT MOTOR INSTRUCTORS +--MY TWO BROTHERS + + * * * * * + + + + +I + + +The roaring reports of the motor fell into abrupt silence, as the +driver brought his car to a halt. + +"You signaled?" he called across the grind of set brakes. + +In the blending glare of the searchlights from the two machines, the +gray one arriving and the limousine drawn to the roadside, the young +girl stood, her hand still extended in the gesture which had stopped +the man who now leaned across his wheel. + +"Oh, please," she appealed again. + +On either side stretched away the Long Island meadows, dark, +soundless, apparently uninhabited. Only this spot of light broke the +monotony of dreariness. A keen, chill, October wind sighed past, +stirring the girl's delicate gown as its folds lay unheeded in the +dust, fluttering her fur-lined cloak and shaking two or three childish +curls from the bondage of her velvet hood. The driver swung himself +down and came toward her with the unhasting swiftness of one trained +to the unexpected. + +"I beg pardon--can I be of some use?" he asked. + +"We are lost," she confessed hurriedly. "If you could set us right, I +should be grateful. I--we must get home soon. I have been a guest at a +house somewhere here, and started to return to New York this +afternoon. The chauffeur does not know Long Island; we can not seem +to find any place. And now we have lost a tire. I was afraid--" + +She broke off abruptly, as her companion descended from the limousine. + +"We only want to know the way; we're all right," he explained. "This +is my cousin; I came out after her, you see. Don't get so worried, +Emily--we'll go straight on as soon as Anderson changes the tire." + +He huddled his words slightly and spoke too rapidly, the round, +good-humored face he turned to the white light was too flushed; +otherwise there was nothing unusual in his appearance. And his caste +was evident and unquestionable, in spite of any circumstance. There +was no anger in the girl's dark eyes as she gazed straight before her, +only pity and helpless distress. + +"I can tell your chauffeur the road," the driver of the gray car +quietly said. "Have you far to go?" + +"To the St. Royal," she answered, looking at him. "My uncle is there. +Is that far?" + +"No; you can reach there by ten o'clock. I will speak to your +chauffeur." + +"Do, like a good fellow," the other man interposed. "Awfully obliged. +You're not angry, Emily," he added, lowering his voice, and moving +nearer her. "Since we're engaged, why should you get frightened simply +because I proposed we get married to-night instead of waiting for a +big wedding? I thought it was a good idea, you know. It isn't my fault +Anderson got lost instead of getting us home for dinner, is it?" + +"Hush, Dick," she rebuked, hot color sweeping her face. "You, you are +not well. And we are not engaged; you forget. Just because people want +us to be--" Too proud to let her steadiness quiver, she broke the +sentence. + +If the driver had heard, and it was scarcely possible that he had not, +he made no sign. By the acetylene light he produced an envelope and +pencil, and proceeded to sketch a map, showing the route to the +limousine's chauffeur. + +"Understand it?" he queried, concluding. He had a certain decision of +manner, not in the least arrogant, but the result of a serene +self-surety that somehow accorded with his lithe, trained grace of +movement. A judge of men would have read him an athlete, perhaps in an +unusual line. + +"Yes, sir," the chauffeur replied. "I'll get Miss Ffrench home in no +time after I get the tire on." + +The indiscretion of the spoken name was ignored, except for a slight +lift of the hearer's eyebrows. + +"How long does it take you to change a tire?" + +"About half an hour; it's night, of course." + +An odd, choking gurgle sounded from the gray machine, where a dark +figure had sat until now in quiescent muteness. + +"Half an hour!" echoed the gray machine's driver, and faced toward the +chuckle. "Rupert, it isn't in your contract, but do you want to come +over and change this tire?" + +"I'll do it for you, Darling," was the sweet response; the small +figure rolled over the edge of the car with a cat-like celerity. +"Where are your tools, you chauffeur? Quick!" + +The bewildered chauffeur mechanically reached for a box on the +running-board, as the young assistant came up, grinning all over his +malign dark face. + +"Oh, quicker! What's the matter, rheumatism? They wouldn't have you in +a training camp for motor trucks on Sunday. Hustle, _please_." + +There never had been anything done to that sedate limousine quite as +this was done. Even the preoccupied girl looked on in fascination at a +rapidity of unwasted movement suggesting a conjuring feat. + +"By George!" exclaimed her escort. "A splendid man you've got there! +Really, a splendid chauffeur, you know." + +The driver smiled with a gleam of irony, but disregarded the comment. + +"Would you like to get into your car?" he asked the girl. "You will be +able to start very soon." + +"I see that," she acknowledged gratefully. "Thank you; I would rather +wait here." + +"Is your chauffeur trustworthy?" + +"Oh, yes; he has been in my uncle's employ for three years. But he was +never before out here, in this place." + +There was a pause, filled by the soft monotone of insults drifting +from the side of the limousine, for Rupert talked while he worked and +his fellow-worker did not please him. + +"Wrench, baby hippo! Oh, look behind you where you put it--you need a +memory course. You ought to be passing spools to a lady with a +sewing-machine. Did you ever see a motor-car before? There, pump her +up, do." He rose, drew out his watch and glanced at it. "Five minutes; +I'll have to beat that day after to-morrow." + +The driver looked over at him and their eyes laughed together. Now, +for the first time, the girl noticed that across the shoulders of both +men's jerseys ran in silver letters the name of a famous foreign +automobile. + +"I am very grateful, indeed," she said bravely and graciously. "I wish +I could say more, or say it better. The journey will be short, now." + +But all her dignity could not check the frightened shrinking of her +glance, first toward the interior of the limousine and then toward the +man who was to enter there with her. And the driver of the gray +machine saw it. + +"We have done very little," he returned. "May I put you in your car?" + +The chauffeur was gathering his tools, speechlessly outraged, and +making ready to start. Seated among the rugs and cushions, under the +light of the luxurious car, the girl deliberately drew off her glove +and held out her small uncovered hand to the driver of the gray +machine. + +"Thank you," she said again, meeting his eyes with her own, whose +darkness contrasted oddly with the blonde curls clustered under her +hood. + +"You are not afraid to drive into the city alone?" he asked. + +"Alone! Why, my cousin--" + +"Your cousin is going to stay with me." + +She flung back her head; amazement, question, relief struggled over +her sensitive face, and finally melted into irrepressible mirth under +the fine amusement of his regard. + +"You are clever--and kind, to do that! No, I am not afraid." + +He closed the door. + +"Take your mistress home," he bade the chauffeur. "Crank for him, +Rupert." + +"Why, why--" stammered the limousine's other passenger, turning as the +motor started. + +No one heeded him. + +"By-by, don't break any records," Rupert called after the chauffeur. +"Hold yourself in, do. If you shed any more tires, telegraph for me, +and if I'm within a day's run I'll come put them on for you and save +you time." + +Silence closed in again, as the red tail-light vanished around a bend. +The gray car's driver nodded curtly to the stupefied youth in the +middle of the road. + +"Unless you want to stay here all night, you'd better get in the +machine," he suggested. "My name's Lestrange--I suppose yours is +Ffrench?" + +"Dick Ffrench. But, see here, you mean well, but I'm going with my +cousin. I'd like a drive with you, but I'm busy." + +"You're not fit to go with your cousin." + +"Not--" + +"Fit," completed Lestrange definitely. "Can you hang on somewhere, +Rupert?" + +"I can," Rupert assured, with an inflection of his own. "Get your +friend aboard." + +Lestrange was already in his seat, waiting. + +"What's that for?" asked the dazed guest, as, on taking his place, a +strap was slipped around his waist, securing him to the seat. + +"So you won't fall out," soothed the grinning Rupert. "You ain't well, +you know. Not that I'd care if you did, but somebody might blame +Darling." + +The car leaped forward, gathering speed to an extent that was a +revelation in motoring to Ffrench. The keen air, the giddy rush +through the dark, were a sobering tonic. After a while he spoke to the +man beside him, nervously embarrassed by a situation he was beginning +to appreciate. + +"This is a racing car?" + +"It was." + +"Isn't it now?" + +"If I were going to race it day after to-morrow, I wouldn't be risking +it over a country road to-night. A racing machine is petted like a +race-horse until it is wanted." + +"And then?" + +"It takes its chances. If you are connected with the Ffrenches who +manufacture the Mercury car, you should know something of automobile +racing yourself. I noticed your limousine was of that make." + +"Yes, that is my uncle's company. I did see a race once at Coney +Island. A car turned over and killed its driver and made a nasty muss. +I--I didn't fancy it." + +A wheel slipped off a stone, giving the car a swerving lurch which was +as instantly corrected--with a second lurch--by its pilot. The effect +was not tranquilizing; the shock swept the last confusion from +Ffrench's brain. + +"Where are you taking me?" he presently asked. + +"Where do you want to go? I will set you down at the next village we +come to; you can stay there to-night or you can get a trolley to the +city." + +The question remained unanswered. Several times Ffrench glanced, +rather diffidently, at his companion's clear, firm profile, and looked +away again without speaking. + +"I went out to get my cousin to-day, and my host gave me a couple of +highballs," he volunteered, at last. "I don't know what you thought--" + +Lestrange twisted his car around a belated farm-wagon. + +"How old are you?" he inquired calmly. + +"Twenty-three." + +"I'm nearly twenty-seven. That's what I thought." + +The simpler mind considered this for a space. + +"Some men are born awake, some awake themselves, and some are shaken +into awakening," paraphrased Lestrange, in addition. "If I were you, +I'd wake up; it comes easier and it's sure to arrive anyhow. There is +the village ahead--shall I stop?" + +"It looks terribly dull," was the doleful verdict. + +"Then come with me," flashed the other unexpectedly; for a fractional +instant his eyes left the road and turned to his companion's face. +"Did you ever see race practice at dawn? Come try a night in a +training camp." + +"You'd bother with me?" + +"Yes." + +A head bobbed up by Ffrench's knee, where Rupert was clinging in some +inexplicable fashion. + +"Once I rode eight miles out there by the hood, head downward, holding +in a pin," he imparted, by way of entertainment. + +Ffrench stared at the reeling perch indicated, and gasped. + +"What for?" he asked. + +"So we could keep on to our control instead of being put out of the +running, of course. Did you guess I was curing a headache?" + +"But you might have been killed!" exclaimed Ffrench. + +Even by the semi-light of the lamps there was visible the +mechanician's droll twist of lip and brow. + +"I'd drive to hell with Lestrange," he explained sweetly, and settled +back in his place. + +Ffrench drew a long breath. After a moment he again looked at the +driver. + +"I'll come," he accepted. "And, thank you." + +It was Lestrange who smiled this time, with a sudden and enchanting +warmth of mirth. + +"We'll try to amuse you," he promised. + + + + +II + + +It was a business consultation that was being held in Mr. Ffrench's +firelit library, in spite of the presence of a tea-table and the young +girl behind it. A consultation between the two partners who composed +the Mercury Automobile Company, of whom the lesser was speaking with a +certain anecdotal weight. + +"And he said he was losing too much time on the turns; so the next +round he took the bend at seventy-two miles an hour. He went over, of +course. The third car we've lost this year; I'm glad the season's +closed." + +Emily Ffrench gave an exclamation, her velvet eyes widening behind +their black lashes. + +"But the driver! Was the poor driver hurt, Mr. Bailey?" + +"He wasn't killed, Miss Emily," answered Bailey, with a tinge of +pensive regret. He was a large, ruddy, white-haired man, with the slow +and careful habit of speech sometimes found in those who live much +with massive machinery. "No, he wasn't killed; he's in the hospital. +But he wrecked as good a car as ever was built, through sheer +foolishness. It costs money." + +Mr. Ffrench responded to the indirect appeal with more than usual +irritation, his level gray eyebrows contracting. + +"We ought to have better drivers. Why do you not get better men, +Bailey? You wanted to go into this racing business; you said the cars +needed advertising. My brother always attended to that side of the +factory affairs, while he lived, with you as his manager. Now it is +altogether in your hands. Why do you not find a proper driver?" + +"Perhaps my hands are not used to holding so much," mused Bailey +unresentfully. "A man might be a good manager, maybe, and weak as a +partner. It isn't the same job. But a first-class driver isn't easy to +get, Mr. Ffrench. There's Delmar killed, and George tied up with +another company, and Dorian retired, all this last season; and we +don't want a foreigner. There's only one man I like--" + +"Well, get him. Pay him enough." + +Bailey hunched himself together and crossed his legs. + +"Yes, sir. He's beaten our cars--and others--every race lately, with +poorer machines, just by sheer pretty driving. He drives fast, yet he +don't knock out his car. But there's a lot after him--there's just one +way we could get him, and get him for keeps." + +"And that?" + +"He's ambitious; he wants to get into something more solid than +racing. If we offered to make him manager, he'd come and put some new +ideas, maybe, into the factory, and race our cars wherever we chose to +enter them. I know him pretty well." + +The proposition was advanced tentatively, with the hesitation of one +venturing in unknown places. But Ethan Ffrench said nothing, his gray +eyes fixed on the hearth. + +"He understands motor construction and designing, and he's been with +big foreign firms," Bailey resumed, after waiting. "He'd be useful +around; I can't be everywhere. What he'd do for us in racing would +help a whole lot. It's very well to make a fine standard car, but it +needs advertising to keep people remembering. And men like to say 'my +machine is the same as Lestrange won the Cup race with.' They like +it." + +"I don't know," said Mr. Ffrench slowly, "that it is dignified for the +manager of the Mercury factory to be a racing driver." + +"The Christine cars are driven by the son of the man who makes them," +was the response. "Some drive their own." + +"The son of the man who makes them," repeated the other. He turned his +face still more to the quivering fire, his always severe expression +hardening strangely and bitterly. "The son--" + +The girl rose to draw the crimson curtains before the windows and to +push an electric switch, filling the room with a subdued golden glow +in place of the late afternoon grayness. Her delicate face, as she +regarded her uncle, revealed most strongly its characteristic +over-earnestness and a sensitive reflection of the moods of those +around her. Emily Ffrench's childhood had been passed in a Canadian +convent, and something of its mysticism clung about her. As the +cheerful change she had wrought flashed over the room, Mr. Ffrench +held out his hand in a gesture of summons, so that she came across to +sit on the broad arm of his chair during the rest of the conference, +her soft gaze resting on the third member. + +"My adopted son and nephew having no such talents, we must do the best +we can," Mr. Ffrench stated, with his most precise coldness. "Being +well-born and well-bred, he has no taste for a mechanic's labor or for +circus performances with automobiles in public. Who is your man, +Bailey?" + +"Lestrange, sir. You must have heard of him often." + +"I never read racing news." + +"I read ours," said Bailey darkly. "We've been licked often enough by +him. And he's straight--he's one of the few men who'll stop at the +grand-stand and lose time reporting a smash-up and sending help +around. Every man on the track likes Darling Lestrange." + +"Likes _whom_?" + +Bailey flushed brick-red. + +"I didn't mean to call him that. He signs himself D. Lestrange, and +some of them started reading it Darling, joking because he was such a +favorite and because they liked him anyhow. It's just a nickname." + +Emily laughed out involuntarily, surprised. + +"I beg pardon," she at once apologized, "but it sounded so frivolous." + +"If you try this man, you had better keep that nickname out of the +factory," Mr. Ffrench advised stiffly. "What respect could the workmen +feel for a manager with such a title? If possible, you would do well +to prevent them from recognizing him as the racing driver." + +Bailey, who had risen at the chime of a clock, halted amazed. + +[Illustration] + +"Respect for him!" he echoed. "Not recognize him! Why, there isn't a +man on the place who wouldn't give his ears to be seen on the same +side of the street with Lestrange, let alone to work under him. They +_do_ read the racing news. That part of it will be all right, if I can +have him." + +"If it is necessary--" + +"I think it is, sir." + +Emily moved slightly, pushing back her yellow-brown curls under the +ribbon that banded them. On a sudden impulse her uncle looked up at +her. + +"What is your opinion?" he questioned. "If Dick had been listening I +should have asked his, and I fancy yours is fully as valuable. Come, +shall we have this racing manager?" + +Astonished, she looked from her uncle to the other man. And perhaps it +was the real anxiety and suspense of Bailey's expression that drew her +quick reply. + +"Let us, uncle. Since we need him, let us have him." + +"Very well," said Mr. Ffrench. "You hear, Bailey." + +There was a long silence after the junior partner's withdrawal. + +"Come where I can see you, Emily," her uncle finally demanded. "I +liked your decided answer a few moments ago; you can reason. How long +have you been a daughter in my house?" + +"Six years," she responded, obediently moving to a low chair opposite. +"I was fifteen when you took me from the convent--to make me very, +very happy, dear." + +"I sent for you when I sent for Dick, and for the same reason. I have +tried three times to rear one of my name to fitness to bear it, and +each one has failed except you. I wish you were a man, Emily; there +is work for a Ffrench to do." + +"When you say that, I wish I were. But--I'm not, I'm not." She flung +out her slender, round arms in a gesture of helpless resignation. "I'm +not even a strong-minded woman who might do instead. Uncle Ethan, may +I ask--it was Mr. Bailey who made me think--my cousin whom I never +saw, will he never come home?" + +Her voice faltered on the last words, frightened at her own daring. +But her uncle answered evenly, if coldly: + +"Never." + +"He offended you so?" + +"His whole life was an offense. School, college, at home, in each he +went wrong. At twenty-one he left me and married a woman from the +vaudeville stage. It is not of him you are to think, Emily, but of a +substitute for him. For that I designed Dick; once I hoped you would +marry him and sober his idleness." + +"Please, no," she refused gently. "I am fond of Dick, but--please, +no." + +"I am not asking it of you. He is well enough, a good boy, not +overwise, but not what is needed here. Failed, again; I am not +fortunate. There is left only you." + +"Me?" + +Her startled dark eyes and his determined gray ones met, and so +remained. + +"You, and your husband. Are you going to marry a man who can take my +place in this business, in the factory and the model village my +brother and I built around it; a man whose name will be fit to join +with ours and so in a fashion preserve it here? Will you wait until +such a one is found and will you aid me to find him? Or will you too +follow selfish, idle fancies of your own?" + +"No!" she answered, quite pale. "I would not do that! I will try to +help." + +"You will take up the work the men of your name refuse, you will +provide a substitute for them?" + +Her earnestness sprang to meet his strength of will, she leaned nearer +in her enthusiasm of self-abnegation, scarcely understood. + +"I will find a substitute or accept yours. I, indeed I will try not to +fail." + +It was characteristic that he offered neither praise nor caress. + +"You have relieved my mind," said Ethan Ffrench, and turned his face +once more to the fire. + + + + +III + + +It was October when the consultation was held in the library of the +old Ffrench house on the Hudson; December was very near on the sunny +morning that Emily drove out to the factory and sought Bailey in his +office. + +"I wanted to talk with you," she explained, as that gentleman rose to +receive her. "We have known each other for a long time, Mr. Bailey; +ever since I came from the Sacred Heart to live with Uncle Ethan. That +is a _very_ long time." + +"It's a matter of five or six years," agreed the charmed Bailey, +contemplating her with affectionate pride in her prettiness and grace. +"You used to drive out here with your pony and spend many an hour +looking on and asking questions. You'll excuse me, Miss Emily, but +there was many a man passed the whisper that you'd have made a fine +master of the works." + +She shook her head, folding her small gloved hands upon the edge of +the desk at the opposite sides of which they were seated. + +"At least I would have tried. I am quite sure I would have tried. But +I am only a girl. I came to ask you something regarding that," she +lifted her candid eyes to his, her soft color rising. "Do you +know--have you ever met any men who cared and understood about such +factories as this? Men who could take charge of a business, the +manufacturing and racing and selling, like my uncles? I have a reason +for asking." + +"Sure thing," said Bailey, unexpectedly prompt. "I've met one man who +knows how to handle this factory better than I do, and I've been at it +twelve years. And there he is--" he turned in his revolving chair and +rolled up the shade covering the glass-set door into the next room, +"my manager, Lestrange." + +The scene thus suddenly opened to the startled Emily was sufficiently +matter-of-fact, yet not lacking in a certain sober animation of its +own. Around a drafting table central in the bare, systematic disorder +of the apartment beyond, three or four blue-shirted men were grouped, +bending over a set of drawings, which Lestrange was explaining. +Explaining with a vivid interest in his task that sparkled over his +clear face in a changing play of expression almost mesmeric in its +command of attention. The men watched and listened intently; they +themselves no common laborers, but the intelligent workmen who were to +carry out the ideas here set forth. Wherever Lestrange had been, he +was coatless and the sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled back, +leaving bare the arms whose smooth symmetry revealed little of the +racing driver's strength; his thick brown hair was rumpled into boyish +waves and across his forehead a fine black streak wrote of recent +personal encounter with things practical. + +"Oh!" exclaimed Emily faintly. And after a moment, "Close the curtain, +please." + +None of the group in the next room had noticed the movement of the +shade, absorbed in one another; any sound being muffled by the throb +of adjacent machinery. Bailey obeyed the request, and leaned back in +his chair. + +"That's Darling Lestrange," he stated with satisfaction. "That's his +own design for an oiling system he's busy with, and it's a beauty. +He's entered for every big race coming this season, starting next week +in Georgia, and meantime he oversees every department in every +building as it never was done before. The man for me, he is." + +Emily made an unenthusiastic sign of agreement. + +"I meant very different men from Mr. Lestrange," she replied, her +dignity altogether Ffrench. "I have no doubt that he is all you say, +but I was thinking of another class. I meant--well, I meant a +gentleman." + +"Oh, you meant a gentleman," replied Bailey, surveying her oddly. "I +didn't know, you see. No; I don't know any one like that." + +"Thank you. Then I will go. I--it does not matter." + +She did not go, however, but remained leaning on the arm of her chair +in troubled reverie, her long lashes lowered. Bailey sat as quietly, +watching her and waiting. + +The murmur of voices came dully through the closed door, one, lighter +and clearer in tone, most frequently rising above the roar pervading +the whole building. It was not possible that Emily's glimpse of +Lestrange across the glass should identify him absolutely with the man +she had seen once in the flickering lights and shadows on the Long +Island road; but he was not of a type easily forgotten, and she had +been awakened to a doubting recognition. + +Now, many little circumstances recurred to her; a strangeness in +Dick's manner when the new manager was alluded to, the fact that her +rescuer on that October night had been driving a racing car and had +worn a racing costume; and lastly, when Bailey spoke of "Darling" +Lestrange there had flashed across her mind the mechanician's +ridiculous answer to the request to aid her chauffeur in changing a +tire: "I'll do it for you, Darling." And listening to that dominant +voice in the next room, she slowly grew crimson before a vision of +herself in the middle of a country road, appealing to a stranger for +succor, like the heroine of melodramatic fiction. Decidedly, she +would never see Lestrange, never let him discover Miss Ffrench. + +"I will go," she reiterated, rising impetuously. + +The glass-set door opened with unwarning abruptness. + +"I'll see Mr. Bailey," declared some one. "He'll know." + +Helpless, Emily stood still, and straightway found herself looking +directly into Lestrange's gray eyes as he halted on the threshold. + +It was Bailey who upheld the moment, all unconsciously. + +"Come in," he invited heartily. "Miss Ffrench, this is our manager, +Mr. Lestrange; the man who's going to double our sales this year." + +Emily moved, then straightened herself proudly, lifting her small +head. Lestrange had recognized her, she felt; the call was to +courage, not flight. + +"I think I have already met Mr. Lestrange," she said composedly. "I am +pleased to meet him again." + +"Met him!" cried Bailey. "Met him? Why--" + +Neither heeded him. A gleaming surprise and warmth lit Lestrange's +always brilliant face. + +"Thank you," he answered her. "You are more than good to recall me, +Miss Ffrench. I owe an apology for breaking in this way, but I fancied +Mr. Bailey alone--and he spoils me." + +"It is nothing; I was about to go." She turned to give Bailey her +hand, smiling involuntarily in her relief. With a glance, an +inflection, Lestrange had stripped their former meeting of its +embarrassment and unconventionality, how, she neither analyzed nor +cared. + +"Good morning," said Bailey. "Shall I take you through, or--" + +But Lestrange was already holding open the door, with a bright +unconcern as to his workmanlike costume which impressed Emily +pleasantly. She wondered if Dick would have borne the situation as +well, in the impossible event of his being found at work. + +The two walked together down an aisle of the huge, machinery-crowded +room, the grimy men lifting their heads to gaze after Emily as she +passed. Once Lestrange paused to speak to a man who sat, note-book and +pencil in hand, beside another who manipulated under a grinding wheel +a delicate aluminum casting. + +"Pardon," he apologized to Emily, who had lingered also. "Mathews +would have let that go wrong in another moment. He," his smile glanced +out, "he is not a Rupert at changing his tires, so to speak, but just +a good chauffeur." + +The gay and natural allusion delighted her. For the first time in her +life Emily Ffrench laughed out in a genuine, mischievous sense of +adventure. + +"Yes? I wonder you could separate yourself from that Rupert to come +here; he was a most bewildering person," she retorted. + +"Separate from Rupert? Why, I would not think of racing a taxicab, as +he would say, without Rupert beside me. He is here taking a +post-graduate course in this type of car, in order to be up to his +work when we go down to Georgia next week." + +"Next week? You expect to win that race?" + +"No. We are running a stock car against some heavy foreign racing +machines; the chance of winning is slight. But I hope to outrun any +other American car on the course, if nothing goes wrong." + +She looked up. + +"And if something does?" she wondered. + +He shrugged his shoulders. + +"Pray be careful of those moving belts behind you, Miss Ffrench. If +something does--there is a chance in every game worth playing." + +"A chance!" her feminine nerves recoiled from the implied +consequences. "But only a chance, surely. You were never in an +accident, never were hurt?" + +Lestrange regarded her in surprise mingled with a dawning raillery +infinitely indulgent. + +"I had no accidents last season," he guardedly responded. "I've been +quite lucky. At least Rupert and I play our game unhampered; there +will be no broken hearts if we are picked up from under our car some +day." + +They had reached the door while he spoke; as he put his hand on the +knob to open it, Emily saw a long zigzag scar running up the extended +arm from wrist to elbow, a mute commentary on the conversation. In +silence she passed out across the courtyard to where her red-wheeled +cart waited. But when Lestrange had put her in and given her the +reins, she held out her hand to him with more gravity. + +"I shall wish you good luck for next week," she said. + +Lestrange threw back his head, drawing a quick breath; here in the +strong sunlight he showed even younger than she had thought him, young +with a primitive intensity of just being alive. + +"Thank you. I would like--if it were possible--to win this race." + +"This one, especially?" + +"Yes, because it is the next step toward a purpose I have set myself, +and which I shall accomplish if I live. Not that I will halt if this +step fails, no, nor for a score of such failures, but I am anxious to +go on and finish." + +Up to Emily's face rushed the answering color and fire to his; drawn +by the bond of mutual earnestness, she leaned nearer. + +"You live to do something? So do I, so do I! And every one else +_plays_." + +However Lestrange would have replied, he was checked by the crash of +the courtyard gate. Abruptly recalled to herself, Emily turned, to see +Dick Ffrench coming toward them. + +Remembering how the three had last met, the situation suggested +strain. But to Emily's astonishment the young men exchanged friendly +nods, although Dick flushed pink. + +"Good morning, Lestrange," he greeted. "I've just come up from the +city, Emily, and there wasn't any carriage at the station, so when one +of the testers told me you were here I came over to get a ride." + +"I've been to see Mr. Bailey," she responded. "Get in." + +As Dick climbed in beside her, she bent her head to Lestrange; if she +had regretted her impulsive confidence, again the clear sanity and +calm of the gray eyes she encountered established self-content. + +When they were trotting down the road toward home, in the crisp air, +Emily glanced at her cousin. + +"I did not know you and Mr. Lestrange were so well acquainted," she +remarked. + +"I see him now and then," Dick answered uneasily. "He's too busy to +want me bothering around him much. You--remembered him?" + +"Yes." + +He absently took the whip from its socket, flecking the horse with it +as he spoke. + +"It was awfully square of you, Emily, not to mention that night to +Uncle Ethan. It wasn't like a girl, at all. I made an idiot of +myself, and you've never said anything to me about it since. I never +told you where Lestrange took me, because I didn't like to talk of the +thing. I'm really awfully fond of you, cousin." + +"Yes, Dickie," she said patiently. + +"Well, Lestrange rubbed it in. Oh, he didn't say much. But he carried +me down to where they were practising for a road race. Such a jolly +lot of fellows, like a bunch of kids; teasing and calling jokes back +and forth at one another half the night until daybreak, everything raw +and chilly. Busy, and their mechanics busy, and one after another +swinging into his car and going off like a rocket. By the time +Lestrange went off, I was as much stirred up as anybody. When he made +a record circuit at seventy-seven miles an hour average, I was +shouting over the rail like a good one. And then, while he was off +again, a big blue car rolled in and its driver yelled that Lestrange +had gone over on the Eastbury turn, and to send around the ambulance. +It was like a nightmare; I sat down on a stone and felt sick." + +"He--" + +"He shook me up half an hour later, and stood laughing at me. 'Upset?' +he said. 'No; we shed a tire and went off into a field, but it didn't +hurt the machine, so we righted her and came in.' He was limping and +bruised and scratched, but he was laughing, while a crowd of people +were trying to shake hands with him and say things. I felt--funny; as +if I wasn't much good. I never felt like that before. 'This is only +practise,' he said, when I was about to go. 'The race to-morrow will +do better. We find it more exciting than cocktails.' That was all, but +I knew what he meant, all right. I've been careful ever since. He won +the race next day, too." + +"Dick, didn't it ever occur to you that you as well as Mr. Lestrange +might do real things?" she asked, after a moment. + +He turned his round, good-humored face to her in boundless amazement. + +"I? I race cars and break my neck and call it fun, like Lestrange? +You're laughing at me, Emily." + +"No, no," in spite of herself the picture evoked brought her smile. +"Not like that. But you might be interested in the factory. You might +learn from Mr. Bailey and take charge of the business with Uncle +Ethan. It would please uncle, _how_ it would please him, if you +did!" + +[Illustration] + +Dick stirred unhappily. + +"It would take a lot of grind," he objected. "I haven't the head for +it, really. I'm not such an awfully bad lot, but I hate work. Let's +not be serious, cousin. How pretty the frosty wind makes you look!" + +Emily tightened the reins with a brief sigh of resignation. + +"Never mind, Dickie. I--uncle will find a substitute. Things must go +on somehow, I suppose, even if we do not like the way." + +But the way loomed distasteful that morning as never before. + + + + +IV + + +Mr. Ffrench and his niece were at breakfast, on the Sunday when the +first account of the Georgia race reached Ffrenchwood. + +"You will take fresh coffee," Emily was saying, the little silver pot +poised in her hand, when the door burst open and Dick hurried, +actually hurried, into the room. + +"He's won! He's got it!" he cried, brandishing the morning newspaper. +"The first time for an American car with an American driver. And how +he won it! He distanced every car on the track except the two big +Italian and French machines. Those he couldn't get, of course; but the +Frenchman went out in the fourth hour with a broken valve. Then he +was set down for second place--second place, Emily, with every other +big car in the country entered. They say he drove like, like--I don't +know what. A hundred and some miles an hour on the straight +stretches." + +"Oh," Emily faltered, setting down the coffee-pot in her plate. + +He stopped her eagerly, half turning toward Mr. Ffrench, who had put +on his pince-nez to contemplate his nephew in stupefaction, not at his +statement, but at his condition. + +"Wait. In the last hour, the Italian car lost its chain and went over +into a ditch on a back stretch, three miles from a doctor. People +around picked the men out of the wreck, and Lestrange came up to find +that the driver was likely to die from a severed artery before help +got there. Emily, he stopped, stopped, with victory in his hands, had +the Italian lifted into the mechanician's seat, and Rupert held him in +while they dashed around the course to the hospital. He got him there +fifteen minutes before an ambulance could have reached him, and the +man will get well. But Lestrange had lost six minutes. He had rushed +straight to the doctor's, given them the man, and gone right on, but +he had lost six minutes. When people realized what he'd done, they +went wild. Every one thought he'd lost the race, but they cheered him +until they couldn't shout. And he kept on driving. It's all here," he +waved the gaudy sheet. "The paper's full of it. He had half an hour to +make up six minutes, and he did it. He came in nineteen seconds ahead +of the nearest car. The crowd swarmed out on the course and fell all +over him. Old Bailey's nearly crazy." + +To see Dick excited would have been marvel enough to hold his auditors +mute, if the story itself had not possessed a quality to stir even +non-sporting blood. Emily could only sit and gaze at the head-lines of +the extended newspaper, her dark eyes wide and shining, her soft lips +apart. + +"He telegraphed to Bailey," Dick added, in the pause. "Ten words: +'First across line in Georgia race. Car in fine shape. Lestrange.' +That was all." + +Mr. Ffrench deliberately passed his coffee-cup to Emily. + +"You had better take your breakfast," he advised. "It is unusual to +see you noticing business affairs, Dick; I might say unprecedented. I +am glad if Bailey's new man is capable of his work, at least. I +suppose for the rest, that he could scarcely do less than take an +injured person to the hospital. Why are you putting sugar in my cup, +Emily?" + +"I don't know," she acknowledged helplessly. + +"I didn't mean to disturb any one," said Dick, sulky and resentful. +"It'll be a big thing though for our cars, Bailey says. I didn't know +you disliked Lestrange." + +Mr. Ffrench stiffened in his chair. + +"I have not sufficient interest in the man to dislike him," was the +cold rebuke. "We will change the subject." + +Emily bent her head, remedying her mistake with the coffee. She +comprehended that her uncle had conceived one of his strong, silent +antipathies for the young manager, and she was sorry. Sorry, although, +remembering Bailey's unfortunate speech the night Lestrange's +engagement was proposed, she was not surprised. But she looked across +to Dick sympathetically. So sympathetically, that after breakfast he +followed her into the library, the colored journals in his hand. + +"What's the matter with the old gentleman this morning?" he +complained. "He wants the business to succeed, doesn't he? If he does, +he ought to like what Lestrange is doing for it. What's the matter +with him?" + +Emily shook back her yellow curls, turning her gaze on him. + +"You might guess, Dickie. He is lonely." + +"Lonely! He!" + +All the feminine impulse to defend flared up. + +"Why not?" she exclaimed with passion. "Who has he got? Who stands +with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired +to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he +dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, Dick Ffrench." + +Quite aghast, he stared after her as she turned away to the nearest +window. But presently he followed her over, still holding the papers. + +"Don't you want to read about the race?" he ventured. + +Smiling, though her lashes were damp, Emily accepted the peace +offering. + +"Yes, please." + +"You're not angry? You know I'm a stupid chump sometimes; I don't mean +it." + +This time she laughed outright. + +"No; I am sorry I was cross. It is I who would like to shirk my work. +Never mind me; let us read." + +They did read, seated opposite each other in the broad window-seat and +passing the sheets across as they finished them. Dick had not +exaggerated, on the contrary he had not said enough. Lestrange and his +car were the focus of the hour's attention. The daring, the reckless +courage that risked life for victory, the generosity which could throw +that victory away to aid a comrade, and lastly the determination and +skill which had won the conquest after all--the whole formed a feat +too spectacular to escape public hysteria. It was very doubtful +indeed whether Lestrange liked his idolizing, but there was no escape. + +The two who read were young. + +"It was a splendid fight," sighed Dick, when they dropped the last +page. + +"Yes," Emily assented. "When he comes back, when you see him, give him +my congratulations." + +"When I see him? Why don't you tell him yourself?" + +Something like a white shadow wiped the scarlet of excitement from her +cheeks, as she averted her face. + +"I shall not see him; I shall not go to the factory any more. It will +be better, I am sure." + +Vaguely puzzled and dismayed, Dick sat looking at her, not daring to +question. + +Emily kept her word during the weeks that followed. Through Dick and +Bailey she heard of factory affairs; of the sudden increase of orders +for the Mercury automobiles, the added prestige gained, and the public +favor bestowed on the car. But she saw nothing of the man who was +responsible for all this. Instead she went out more than ever before. +Their social circle was too painfully exclusive to be large or gay. + +Three times a week it was Mr. Ffrench's stately custom to visit the +factory and inspect it with Bailey. At other times Bailey came up to +the house, where affairs were conducted. But in neither place did Mr. +Ffrench ever come in contact with his manager, during all the months +while winter waxed and waned again to spring. + +"That's Bailey's doing," chuckled Dick, when Emily finally wondered +aloud at the circumstance. "He isn't going to risk losing Lestrange +because our high and mighty uncle falls out with him. And it would be +pretty likely to happen if they met. Lestrange has a temper, you know, +even if it doesn't stick out all over him like a hedgehog; and a dozen +other companies would give money to get him." + +Emily nodded gravely. It was a sunny morning in the first of March, +and the cousins were at the end of the old park surrounding +Ffrenchwood, where they had strolled before breakfast. + +"Mr. Bailey likes Mr. Lestrange," she commented. + +"Likes him! He loves him. You know Lestrange lives with him; a +bachelor household, cozy as grigs." + +Just past here ran the road, beyond a high cedar hedge. While he was +speaking, the irregular explosive reports of a motor had sounded down +the valley, unmistakable to those familiar with the testing of the +stripped cars, and rapidly approaching. Now, as Emily would have +answered, the roar suddenly changed in character, an appalling series +of explosions mingled with the grind of outraged machinery suddenly +braked, and some one shouted above the din. The next instant a huge +mass shot past the other side of the hedge and there followed a dull +crash. + +"That's one of our men!" gasped Dick, and plunged headlong through the +shrubbery. + +Dazed momentarily, Emily stood, then caught up her skirts and ran +after him. She knew well enough what the testers of the cars risked. + +"Dick!" she appealed. "Dick!" + +But it was not the wreck she anticipated that met her eyes as she came +through the hedge. On the opposite side of the road a long low +skeleton car was standing, one side lurched drunkenly down with two +wheels in the gutter. Still in his seat, the driver was leaning over +the steering-wheel, out of breath, but laughing a greeting to the +astonished Dick. + +"A break in the steering-gear," he declared, by way of explanation. "I +told Bailey it was a weak point; now perhaps he'll believe me and +strengthen it." + +"You're not hurt," Dick inferred. + +"I think she's not--a tire gone. Find anything wrong, Rupert?" + +"Two tires off," said the laconic mechanician. "Two funerals +postponed. That was a pretty stop, Darling." + +"Very," coolly agreed Lestrange, rising and removing his goggles. +"What's the matter, Ffrench?" + +"You frightened us out of our five senses, that's all. Do you usually +practise for races out here?" + +"_Us?_" repeated Lestrange, and turning, saw the girl at the edge of +the park. "Miss Ffrench, I beg your pardon!" + +The swift change in his tone, the ease of deference with which he +bared his head and, motor caps not being readily donned or doffed, so +remained bareheaded in the bright sunlight, savored of the Continent. + +"It is too commonplace to say good morning," Emily replied, her color +rising with her smile. "I am very glad you escaped. But that is +commonplace, too, I'm afraid." + +"Every one is commonplace before breakfast," reassured her cousin. +"Honestly, Lestrange, do you practise racing here?" + +"Hardly. I'm trying out the car; every car has to go through that +before it is used. Don't you know that we've recently secured from the +local authorities a permit to run at any speed over this road between +four o'clock and eight in the morning? I thought all the country-side +knew that." + +"But we have a regiment of men to test cars." + +Lestrange passed a caressing glance over the dingy-gray machine in its +state of bareness that suggested indecorum. + +"This is my car, the one I'll race this spring and summer. No one +drives it but me. Besides, I have to have some diversion." + +He stepped to the ground with the last word, and went around to where +Rupert was on his knees beside the machine. + +"Can you fix it here?" he demanded. + +"Not precisely," was the drawled reply. "Back to camp for it with a +horse in front." + +"All right. You'll have to walk down and get a car from Mr. Bailey to +tow it home." + +Rupert got up, his dark, malign little face twisted. + +"If I'd broken a leg they'd have sent a cart for me," he mourned. "Now +I'll have to walk, and I ain't used to it. Hard luck!" + +"If you go around to the stables they will give you my pony cart," +Emily offered impulsively. "You," her dimpling smile gleamed out, "you +once put a tire on for me, you know. Please let me return the +service." + +Rupert's black eyes opened, a slow grin of appreciation crinkled +streaks of dust and oil as he surveyed the young girl. + +"I'll put tires on every wheel you run into control, day and night +shifts," he acknowledged with sweet cordiality. "But I'm no +horse-chauffeur, thanks; I guess I'll walk." + +"He is a gentle pony," she remonstrated. "Any one can drive him." + +He turned a side glance toward the motionless car. + +"That's all right, but I'm used to being killed other ways. I'll be +going." + +"Jack Rupert, do you mean to tell me that you will race with +Lestrange every season, and yet you're afraid to drive a fat cob?" +cried the delighted Dick. + +"I'm not telling anything. I had a chum who was pitched out by a horse +he lost control of, and broke his neck. I'm taking no chances." + +"How many men have you seen break their necks out of autos?" + +"That's in business," pronounced Rupert succinctly. "I'm going on, +Darling; it's only a two-mile run." + +"Here, wait," Dick urged. "Emily, I'll stroll around to the stables +with him and make one of the men drive him down. You don't mind my +leaving you?" + +"No," Emily answered. "I will wait for you." + +She might have walked back alone, if she had chosen. But instead she +sat down on a boulder near the hedge, folding her hands in her lap +like a demure child. The house was so dull, so hopelessly monotonous +contrasted with this fresh, wind-tossed outdoors and Lestrange in his +vigor of life and glamour of ultramodern adventure. + +"You and Mr. Ffrench are very good," Lestrange said presently. "I am +afraid I appreciate it more than Rupert, though." + +"Is he really afraid of horses?" + +"I should not wonder; I never tried him. But he is amazingly +truthful." + +Their eyes met across the strip of sunny road as they smiled; again +Emily felt the sudden confidence, the falling away of all constraint +before the direct clarity of his regard. + +"You won your race," she said irrelevantly. "I was glad, since you +wanted it." + +"Thank you," he returned with equal simplicity. "But I did not want it +that way, so far as I was concerned." + +"Yet, it was the next step?" + +"Yes, it was the next step. I meant that one does not care to be +victor because the leading cars were wrecked. There is no elation in +defeating a driver who lies out on the course. But, as you say, it +helped my purpose. You," he hesitated for the right phrase, "you are +most kind to recall that I have a purpose." + +It was the convent-bred Emily who looked back at him, earnest-eyed, +exaltedly serious. + +"I have thought of it often. Every one else that I know just lives the +way things happen--there are only a few people who grasp things and +_make_ them happen. That is real work; so many of us are just given +work we do not want--" she broke off. + +"If we do not want the work, it is probably not our own," said +Lestrange. "Unless we have brought it on ourselves by a fault we must +undo--I need not speak of that to you. One must not make the mistake +of assuming some one else's work." + +He spoke gently, almost as if with a clairvoyant reading of her +tendency to self-immolation. + +"But may not some one else's fault be given us to undo?" she asked +eagerly. "May not their work be forced on us?" + +"No," he answered. + +"No?" bewildered. + +"I don't think so. Each one of us has enough with his own, at least +so it seems to me. Most of us die before we finish it." + +Emily paused, contending with the loneliness and doubts which impelled +her to speech, the feminine yearning to let another decide her +problems. This other's nonchalant strength of decision allured her +uncertainty. + +"I am discouraged," she confessed. "And tired. I--there is no reason +why I should not speak of it. You know Dick, how he can do nothing in +the factory or business, or in the places where a Ffrench should +stand. All this must fall into the hands of strangers, to be broken +and forgotten, when my uncle dies, for lack of some one who would +care. And Uncle Ethan seems severe and hard, but it grieves him all +the time. His only son was not a good man; he lives abroad with his +wife, who was an actress before he married her. You knew that?" as he +moved. + +"I heard something of it in the village," Lestrange admitted gravely. +"Please do not think me fond of gossip; I could not avoid it. But I +should not have imagined this a family likely to make low marriages." + +"It never happened before. I never saw that cousin, nor did Dick; but +he was always a disappointment, always, Uncle Ethan has told me. And +since he failed, and Dick fails, there is only me." + +"You!" + +She nodded, her lip quivering. + +"Only me. Not as a substitute--I am not fit for that--but to find a +substitute. I have promised my uncle to marry the first one who is +able to be that." + +The silence was absolute. Lestrange neither moved nor spoke, gazing +down at her bent head with an expression blending many shades. + +"It is a duty; there is no one except me," she added. "Only sometimes +I grow--to dislike it too much. I am so selfish that sometimes I hope +a substitute will never come." + +Her voice died away. It was done; she, Emily Ffrench, had deliberately +confided to this stranger that which an hour before she would have +believed no one could force from her lips in articulate speech. And +she neither regretted nor was ashamed, although there was time for +full realization before Lestrange answered. + +"I did not believe," he said, "that such things could be done. It is +nonsense, of course, but such magnificent nonsense! It is the kind of +situation, Miss Ffrench, where any man is justified in interfering. I +beg you will leave the affair in my hands and think no more of such +morbid self-sacrifice." + +Stupefied, Emily flung back her head, staring at him. + +"In _your_ hands?" + +"Since there are none better, it appears. Why," his vivid face +questioned her full and straightly, "you didn't imagine that any man +living could hear what you are doing, and pass on?" + +"My uncle knows--" + +"Your uncle--is not for me to criticize. But do not ask any other man +to let you go on." + +Her ideas reeling, she struggled for comprehension. + +"You, what could you do?" she marveled. "The substitute--" + +"There won't be any substitute," replied Lestrange with perfect +coolness. "I shall train Dick Ffrench to do his work." + +"You--" + +"I can, and I will." + +"He can not--" + +"Oh, yes, he can; he is just idle and spoiled," the firm lips set more +firmly. "He shall take his place. I can handle him." + +Emily sat quite helplessly, her eyes black with excitement. Slowly +recollection flowed back to her of a change in Dick since his light +contact with Lestrange; his avoidance of even occasional highballs, +his awakening interest in the clean sport of the races, and his +half-wistful admiration for the virile driver-manager. + +"I almost believe you could," she conceded. + +"I can," repeated Lestrange. "Only," he openly smiled, "it will be +hard on Dickie." + +It was the touch needed, the antidote to sentiment. Emily laughed with +him, laughed in sheer mischief and relief and leap of youth. + +"You will be gentle--poor Dickie!" + +"I'll be gentle. He is coming now, I think." He took a step nearer +her. "You will leave this in my care, wholly? You will not trouble +about--a substitute?" + +"I will leave it with you. But you are forgetting your own doctrine; +you are taking some one else's work to do." + +"Pardon, I am merely making Ffrench do his work. I have seen a little +more of him than you perhaps know; I understand what I am undertaking. +Moreover, I would forget a great many doctrines to set you free." + +"Free?" she echoed; she had the sensation of being suddenly confronted +with an open door into the unexpected. + +"Free," he quietly reasserted. "Free to live your own life and draw +unhampered breath, and to decide the great question when it comes, +with thought only of yourself." + +She drew back; a prescient dismay fell sharply across her late relief, +a panic crossed with strange delight. + +"He's off," called Dick, emerging from the park. "I made Anderson +take him down with the limousine. At least, Rupert is driving while +Anderson sits alongside and holds on; when they came to the turn in +the avenue, your precious mechanician took it full speed and then +apologized for going so slowly because, as he said, he was an amateur +and likely to upset. Is he really a good driver, Lestrange?" + +"Pretty fair," returned Lestrange serenely, from his seat on the edge +of the ditched machine. "When I'm not using him, he's employed as one +of the factory car testers; and when we're racing I give him the wheel +if I want to fix anything. However, I'm obliged to that +steering-knuckle for breaking here, instead of leaving me to a long +wait in the wilds. Come down to the shop to-morrow at six, and Rupert +and I will even up by taking you for a run." + +"Who; me? You're asking me?" + +"Why not? It's exhilarating." + +Dick removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair, +gratification and alarm mingling in his expression with somewhat the +effect of the small boy who is first invited into a game with his +older brother's clique. + +"You--er, wouldn't smash me up?" he hesitated. + +"I haven't smashed up Rupert or myself, so far. If you feel timid, +never mind, of course; I'll take my usual companion." + +Dick flushed all over his plump face, the Ffrench blood up at last. + +"I was only joking," he hastily explained. "I'll come. It's only that +you're so confoundedly reckless sometimes, Lestrange, and--But I'll +come." + +Lestrange gave his fine, glinting smile as he rose to salute Emily. + +"All right. If you don't get down to the factory in time, I'll call +for you," he promised. + + + + +V + + +There was a change in the Ffrench affairs, a lightening of the +atmosphere, a vague quickening and stir of healthful cheer in the days +that followed. The somber master of the house met it in Bailey's +undisguised elation and pride when they discussed the successful +business now taxing the factory's resources, met it yet again in +Emily's pretty gaiety and content. But most strikingly was he +confronted with an alteration in Dick. + +It was only a week after his first morning ride with Lestrange, that +Dick electrified the company at dinner, by turning down the glass at +his plate. + +"I've cut out claret, and that sort of thing," he announced. "It's +bad for the nerves." + +His three companions looked up in complete astonishment. It was +Saturday night and by ancient custom Bailey was dining at the house. + +"What has happened to you? Have you been attending a revival meeting?" +the young man's uncle inquired with sarcasm. + +"It's bad for the nerves," repeated Dick. "There isn't any reason why +I shouldn't like to do anything other fellows do. Les--that is, none +of the men who drive cars ever touch that stuff, and look at their +nerve." + +Mr. Ffrench contemplated him with the irritation usually produced by +the display of ostentatious virtue, but found no comment. Emily gazed +at the table, her red mouth curving in spite of all effort at +seriousness. + +"You're right, Mr. Dick," said Bailey dryly. "Stick to it." + +And Dick stuck, without as much as a single lapse. Ffrenchwood saw +comparatively little of him, as time went on, the village and factory +much. He lost some weight, and acquired a coat of reddish tan. + +Emily watched and admired in silence. She had not seen Lestrange +again, but it seemed to her that his influence overlay all the life of +both house and factory. Sometimes this showed so plainly that she +believed Mr. Ffrench must see, must feel the silent force at work. But +either he did not see or chose to ignore. And Dick was incautious. + +"I'm going to buy one of our roadsters myself," he stated one day. +"Can I have it at cost?" + +Mr. Ffrench felt for his pince-nez. + +"You? Why do you not use the limousine?" + +"Because I don't want to go around in a box driven by a chauffeur. I +want a classy car to run myself. I've been driving some of the +stripped cars, lately, and I like it." + +"I will give you a car, if you want one," answered his uncle, quite +kindly. "Go select any you prefer." + +"Thank you," Dick sat up, beaming. "But I'll have to wait my turn, +we've orders ahead now. Lestrange says I've no right to come in and +make some other fellow wait." + +Mr. Ffrench slowly stiffened. + +"We do not require lessons in ethics from this Lestrange," was the +cold rebuke. "I shall telephone Bailey to send up your car at once." + +Rupert brought the sixty-horse-power roadster to the door, three hours +later. And Emily appreciated that Lestrange was discreet as well as +compelling, when she found the black-eyed young mechanician was +detailed to accompany Dick's maiden trips; which duty was fulfilled, +incidentally, with the fine tact of a Richelieu. + +In May there was a still greater accession of work at the factory. In +addition, the first of June was to open with a twenty-four hour race +at the Beach track, and Lestrange was entered for it. Excitement was +in the air; Dick came in the house only to eat and sleep. + +The day before the race, Mr. Ffrench walked into the room where his +niece was reading. + +"I want to see Bailey," he said briefly. "Do you wish to drive me down +to the factory, or shall I have Anderson bring around the limousine?" + +"Please let us drive," she exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "I have +not been to the factory for months." + +"Very good. You are looking well, Emily, of late." + +Surprised, a soft color swept the face she turned to him. + +"I am well. Dear, I think we are all better this spring." + +"Perhaps," said Ethan Ffrench. His bitter gray eyes passed +deliberately over the large room with all its traces of a family life +extending back to pre-Colonial times, but he said no more. + +It was an exquisite morning, too virginal for June, too richly warm +for May. When the two exchanged the sunny road for the factory office, +a north room none too light, it was a moment before their dazzled eyes +perceived no one was present. This was Bailey's private office, and +its owner had passed into the room beyond. + +"I will wait," conceded Mr. Ffrench, dismissing the boy who had +ushered them in. "Sit down, Emily; Bailey will return directly, no +doubt." + +But Emily had already sat down, for she knew the voice speaking beyond +the half-open door, and that the long-prevented meeting was now +imminent. + +"It will not do," Lestrange was stating definitely. "It should be +reinforced." + +"It's always been strong enough," Bailey's slower tones objected. +"For years. It's not a thing likely to break." + +"Not likely to break? Look at last year's record, Mr. Bailey, and tell +me that. A broken steering-knuckle killed Brook in Indiana, another +sent Little to the hospital in Massachusetts, the same thing wrecked +the leader at the last Beach race and dashed him through the fence. Do +you know what it means to the driver of a machine hurling itself along +the narrow verge of destruction, when the steering-wheel suddenly +turns useless in his grasp? Can you feel the sick helplessness, the +confronting of death, the compressed second before the crash? Is it +worth while to risk it for a bit of costless steel?" + +The clear realism of the picture forced a pause, filled by the dull +roar and throb through the machinery-crowded building. + +"They were not our cars that broke, any of them," Bailey insisted. + +"Not our cars, no. But the steering-knuckle of my own machine broke +under my hands last March, on the road, and if I had been on a curve +instead of a straight stretch there would have been a wreck. As it +was, I brought her to a stop in the ditch. There is no other thing +that may not leave a fighting chance after it breaks, but this leaves +absolutely none. I know, you both know, that the steering-wheel is the +only weapon in the driver's grasp. If it fails him, he goes out and +his mechanician with him." + +Emily paled, shrinking. She remembered the road under the maples and +Lestrange's laughing face as he leaned breathless across his useless +wheel. That was what it had meant, then, the lightly treated episode! + +"You'd better fix it like he wants it," advised Dick's disturbed +tones. "Remember, he's got to drive the car Friday and Saturday, +Bailey, not us." + +"It's not alone for my racer I'm speaking, but for every car that +leaves the shop," Lestrange caught him up. "I'm not flinching; I've +driven the car before and I will again. It may hold for ever, that +part, but I've tested it and it's a weak point--take the warning for +what it's worth." + +There was a movement as if he rose with the last word. Emily laid her +hand on the arm of the chair, turning her excited dark eyes on her +uncle. Surely if ever Mr. Ffrench was to meet his manager, this was +the moment; when Lestrange's ringing argument was still in their ears, +his splendid force of earnestness still vibrant in the atmosphere. And +suddenly she wanted them to meet, passionately wanted Ethan Ffrench's +liking for this man. + +"Uncle," she began. "Uncle--" + +But it was not Lestrange's light step that halted on the threshold. + +"Why, I didn't know--" exclaimed Bailey. "Excuse me, Mr. Ffrench, they +didn't tell me you were down." + +He glanced over his shoulder; as he pulled shut the door Emily fancied +she heard an echo, as if the two young men left the next room. +Bitterly disappointed, she sank back. + +"That was your manager with you?" Mr. Ffrench frigidly inquired. + +"Yes; he went up-stairs to see how the new drill is acting." Bailey +pulled out a handkerchief and rubbed his brow. "Excuse me, it's warm. +Yes, he wants me to strengthen a knuckle--he's spoken considerable +about it. I guess he's right; better too much than too little." + +"I do not see that follows. I should imagine that you understood +building chassis better than this racing driver. You had best consult +outside experts in construction before making a change." + +"Uncle!" Emily cried. + +"There's a twenty-four hour race starts to-morrow night," Bailey +suggested uneasily. "It's easy fixed, and we might be wrong." + +"We have always made them this way?" + +"Yes, but--" + +"Consult experts, then. I do not like your manager's tone; he is too +assuming. Now let me see those papers." + +Emily's parasol slipped to the floor with a sharp crash as she stood +up, quite pale and shaken. + +"Uncle, Mr. Lestrange knows," she appealed. "You heard him say what +would happen--please, please let it be fixed." + +Amazed, Mr. Ffrench looked at her, his face setting. + +"You forget your dignity," he retorted in displeasure. "This is mere +childishness, Emily. Men will be consulted more competent to decide +than this Lestrange. That will do." + +From one to the other she gazed, then turned away. + +"I will wait out in the cart," she said. "I--I would rather be +outdoors." + +Dick Ffrench was up-stairs, standing with Lestrange in one of the +narrow aisles between lines of grimly efficient machines that bit or +cut their way through the steel and aluminum fed to them, when Rupert +came to him with a folded visiting card. + +"Miss Ffrench sent it," was the explanation. "She's sitting out in her +horse-motor car, and she called me off the track to ask me to demean +myself by acting like a messenger boy. All right?" + +"All right," said Dick, running an astonished eye over the card. + +"No answer?" + +"No answer." + +"Then I'll hurry back to my embroidery. I'm several laps behind in my +work already." + +"See here, Lestrange," Dick began, as the mechanician departed, +sitting down on a railing beside a machine steadily engaged in +notching steel disks into gear-wheels. + +"Don't do that!" Lestrange exclaimed sharply. "Get up, Ffrench." + +"It's safe enough." + +"It's nothing of the kind. The least slip--" + +"Oh, well," he reluctantly rose, "if you're going to get fussy. Read +what Emily sent up." + +Lestrange accepted the card with a faint flicker of expression. + +"Dick, uncle is making the steering-knuckle wait for expert opinion," +the legend ran, in pencil. "Have Mr. Bailey strengthen Mr. Lestrange's +car, anyhow. Do not let him race so." + +Near them two men were engaged in babbitting bearings, passing +ladlefuls of molten metal carelessly back and forth, and splashing +hissing drops over the floor; at them Lestrange gazed in silence, +after reading, the card still in his hand. + +"Well?" Dick at last queried. + +"Have Mr. Bailey do nothing at all," was the deliberate reply. "There +is an etiquette of subordination, I believe--this is Mr. Ffrench's +factory. I've done my part and we'll think no more of the matter. I +may be wrong. But I am more than grateful to Miss Ffrench." + +"That's all you're going to do?" + +"Yes. I wish you would not sit there." + +"I'm tired; I won't fall in, and I want to think. We've been a lot +together this spring, Lestrange; I don't like this business about the +steering-gear. Do you go down to the Beach to-morrow?" + +"To-night. To-morrow I must put in practising on the track. I would +have been down to-day if there had not been so much to do here. Are +you coming with me, or not until the evening of the start?" + +Dick stirred uncomfortably. + +"I don't want to come at all, thank you. I saw you race once." + +"You had better get used to it," Lestrange quietly advised. "The day +may come when there is no one to take your place. This factory will be +yours and you will have to look after your own interests. I wish you +would come down and represent the company at this race." + +"I haven't the head for it." + +"I do not agree with you." + +Their eyes met in a long regard. Here, in the crowded room of workers, +the ceaseless uproar shut in their conversation with a walled +completeness of privacy. + +"I'm not sure whether you know it, Lestrange, but you've got me all +stirred up since I met you," the younger man confessed plaintively. +"You're different from other fellows and you've made me different. I'd +rather be around the factory than anywhere else I know, now. But +honestly I like you too well to watch you race." + +"I want you to come." + +"I--" + +One of the men with a vessel of white, heaving molten metal was trying +to pass through the narrow aisle. Dick broke his sentence to rise in +hasty avoidance, and his foot slipped in a puddle of oil on the floor. + +It was so brief in happening that only the workman concerned saw the +accident. As Dick fell backward, Lestrange sprang forward and caught +him, fairly snatching him from the greedy teeth. There was the rending +of fabric, a gasping sob from Dick, and reeling from the recoil, +Lestrange was sent staggering against a flying emery wheel next in +line. + +The workman set down his burden with a recklessness endangering +further trouble, active too late. + +"Mr. Lestrange!" he cried. + +But Lestrange had already recovered himself, his right arm crossed +with a scorched and bleeding bar where it had touched the glittering +wheel, and the two young men were standing opposite each other in +safety. + +"You are not hurt?" was the first question. + +"_I?_ I ought to be, but I'm not. Come to a surgeon, Lestrange--Oh, +you told me not to sit there!" + +Lestrange glanced down at the surface-wound, then quickly back at the +two pallid faces. + +"Go on to your work, Peters," he directed. "I'm all right." And as the +man slowly obeyed, "_Now_ will you take my advice and come to the race +with me, Ffrench?" + +"Race! You'd race with that arm?" + +"Yes. Are you coming with me?" + +Shaken and tremulous, Dick passed a damp hand across his forehead. + +"I think you're mad to stand talking here. Come to the office, for +heaven's sake. And, I'd be ground up there, if you hadn't caught me," +he looked toward the jaws sullenly shredding and reshredding a strip +of cloth from his sleeve. "I'll do anything you want." + +"Will you?" Lestrange flashed quickly. He flung back his head with the +resolute setting of expression the other knew so well, his eyes +brilliant with a resolve that took no heed of physical discomfort. +"Then give me your word that you'll stick to your work here. That is +my fear; that the change in you is just a mood you'll tire of some +day. I want you to stand up to your work and not drop out +disqualified." + +"I will," said Dick, subdued and earnest. "I couldn't help doing +it--your arm--" + +Lestrange impatiently dragged out his handkerchief and wound it around +the cut. + +"Go on." + +"I can't help keeping on; I couldn't go back now. You've got me awake. +No one else ever tried, and I was having a good time. It began with +liking you and thinking of all you did, and feeling funny alongside of +you." He paused, struggling with Anglo-Saxon shyness. "I'm awfully +fond of you, old fellow." + +The other's gray eyes warmed and cleared. Smiling, he held out his +left hand. + +"It's mutual," he assured. "It isn't playing the game to trap you +while you are upset like this. But I don't believe you'll be sorry. +Come find some one to tie this up for me; I can't have it stiff +to-morrow." + +But in spite of his professed haste, Lestrange stopped at the head of +the stairs and went back to recover some small object lying on the +floor beneath a pool of chilling metal. When he rejoined Dick, it was +to linger yet a moment to look back across the teeming room. + +"It's worth having, all this," he commented, with the first touch of +sadness the other ever had seen in him. "Don't throw it away, +Ffrench." + +There is usually a surgeon within reach of a factory. When Mr. Ffrench +passed out to the cart where Emily waited, he passed Dick and the +village physician entering. The elder gentleman put on his glasses to +survey his nephew's white face. + +"An accident?" he inquired. + +The casual curiosity was sufficiently exasperating, and Dick's nerves +were badly gone. + +"Nothing worth mentioning," he snapped. "Just that I nearly fell into +the machinery and Lestrange has done up his arm pulling me out. That's +all." + +And he hurried the doctor on without further parley or excuse. + +Lestrange was in the room behind the office, smoking one of Bailey's +cigars and listening to that gentleman's vigorous remarks concerning +managers who couldn't keep out of their own machinery, the patient not +having considered it worth while to explain Dick's share in the +mischance. An omission which Dick himself promptly remedied in his +anxious contrition. + +Later, when the arm was being swathed in white linen, its owner spoke +to his companion of the morning: + +"I hope you didn't annoy Miss Ffrench with this trifling matter, as +you came in." + +"I didn't speak to her at all, only to my uncle." + +"Very good." + +Something in the too-indolent tone roused Dick's usually dormant +observation. Startled, he scrutinized Lestrange. + +"Is that why you bothered yourself with me?" he stammered. "Is that +why--" + +"Shut up!" warned Lestrange forcibly and inelegantly. "That isn't +tight enough, Doc. You know I'm experienced at this sort of thing, and +I'm going to use this arm." + +But Dick was not to be silenced in his new enlightenment. When the +surgeon momentarily turned away, he leaned nearer, his plump face +grim. + +"If I brace up, it won't be for Emily, but for you, Darling +Lestrange," he whispered viciously. "She don't want me and I don't +want her, that way. I've got over that. And, and--oh, confound it, I'm +sorry, old man!" + +"Shut up!" said Lestrange again. + +But though Dick's very sympathy unconsciously showed the hopeless +chasm between the racing driver and Miss Ffrench, the hurt did not +cloud the cordial smile Lestrange sent to mitigate his command. + + + + +VI + + +Emily first heard the full story of the accident that evening, when +Dick sat opposite her on the veranda and gave the account in frank +anxiety and dejection. + +"We're going down to-night on the nine o'clock train," he added in +conclusion. "To-morrow morning he'll spend practising on the track, +and to-morrow evening at six the race starts. And Lestrange starts +crippled because I am a clumsy idiot. He laughs at me, but--he'd do +that anyhow." + +"Yes," agreed Emily. "He would do that anyhow." Her eyes were wide and +terrified, the little hands she clasped in her lap were quite cold. +"I wish, I wish he had never come to this place." + +"Oh, you do?" Dick said oddly. "Maybe he will, too, before he gets +through with us. We're a nasty lot, we Ffrenches; a lot of +blue-blooded snobs without any red blood in us. Are you going to say +good-by to me? I won't be home until it's over." + +She looked at him, across the odorous dusk slowly silvering as the +moon rose. + +"You are going to be with him?" + +Dick smoothed his leggings before standing up, surveying his strict +motor costume with a gloomy pride not to be concealed. + +"Yes; I'm representing our company. Lestrange might want some backing +if any disputes turned up. Uncle Ethan nearly had a fit when Bailey +told him what I was going to do; he called me Richard for the first +time in my life. I guess I'll be some good yet, if every one except +Lestrange did think I was a chump." + +"I am very sure you will," she answered gently. "Good-by, Dick; you +look very nice." + +When he reached the foot of the steps, her voice recalled him, as she +stood leaning over the rail. + +"Dick, you could not make him give it up, not race this time?" + +He stared up at her white figure. + +"No, I could not. Don't you suppose I tried?" + +"I suppose you did," she admitted, and went back to her seat. + +The June night was very quiet. Once a sleepy bird stirred in the +honeysuckle vines and chirped through the dark. Far below the throb +of a motor passed down the road, dying away again to leave silence. +Suddenly Emily Ffrench hid her face on the arm of her chair and the +tears overflowed. + +There was no consciousness of time while that inarticulate passion of +dread spent itself. But it was nearly half an hour later when she +started up at the echo of a light step on the gravel path, dashing her +handkerchief across her eyes. + +It was incredible, but it was true: Lestrange himself was standing +before her at the foot of the low stairs, the moonlight glinting +across his uncovered bronze head and bright, clear face. + +"I beg pardon for trespass, Miss Ffrench," he said, "but your cousin +tells me he has been saying a great deal of nonsense to you about +this race, and that you were so very good as to feel some concern +regarding it. Really, I had to run up and set that right; I couldn't +leave you to be annoyed by Mr. Ffrench's nerves. Will you forgive me?" + +Like sun through a mist his blithe voice cleaved through her distress. +Before the tranquil sanity of his regard, her painted terrors suddenly +showed as the artificial canvas scenes of a stage, unreal, untrue. + +"It was like you to come," she answered, with a shaking sigh that was +half sob. "I was frightened, yes." + +"There is no cause. A dozen other men take the same chance as Rupert +and I; the driver who alternates with me, for instance. This is our +life." + +"Your arm--" + +"Is well enough." He laughed a little. "You will see many a bandaged +arm before the twenty-four hours are up; few of us finish without a +scratch or strain or blister. This is a man's game, but it's not half +so destructive as foot-ball. You wished me good luck for the Georgia +race; will you repeat the honor before I go back to Ffrench?" + +"I wish you," she said unsteadily, "every kind of success, now and +always. You saved Dick to-day--of all else you have done for him and +for me I have not words to speak. But it made it harder to bear the +thought of your hurt and risk from the hurt, when I knew that I had +sent Dick there, who caused it." + +Lestrange hesitated, himself troubled. Her soft loveliness in the +delicate light that left her eyes unreadable depths of shadow, her +timidity and anxiety for his safety, were from their very +unconsciousness most dangerous. And while he grasped at self-control, +she came still nearer to the head of the steps and held out her small +fair hand, mistaking his silence for leave-taking. + +"Good night; and I thank you for coming. I am not used to so much +consideration." + +Her accents were unsure when she would have made them most certain, +with her movement the handkerchief fell from her girdle to his feet. +Mechanically Lestrange recovered the bit of linen, and felt it lie wet +in his fingers. Wet-- + +"Emily!" he cried abruptly, and sprang the brief step between them. + +Her white, terrified face turned to him in the moonlight, but he saw +her eyes. And seeing, he kissed her. + +The moment left no time for speech. Some one was coming down the +drawing-room toward the long windows. Dick's impatient whistle sounded +shrilly from the park. Panting, quivering, Emily drew from the embrace +and fled within. + +She had no doubt of Lestrange, no question of his serious meaning--he +had that force of sincerity which made his silence more convincing +than the protestations of others. But alone in her room she laid her +cheek against the hand his had touched. + +"I wish I had died in the convent," she cried to her heart. "I wish I +had died before I made him unhappy too." + + + + +VII + + +Morning found a pale and languid Emily across the breakfast table from +Mr. Ffrench. Yet, by a contradiction of the heart, her pride in loving +and being loved so overbore the knowledge that only sorrow could +result to herself and Lestrange, that her eyes shone wide and lustrous +and her lips curved softly. + +Mr. Ffrench was almost in high spirits. + +"The boy was merely developing," he stated, over his grape-fruit. "I +have been unjust to Richard. For two months Bailey has been talking of +his interest in the business and attendance at the factory, but I was +incredulous. Although I fancied I observed a change--have you +observed a change in him, Emily?" + +"Yes," Emily confirmed, "a very great change. He has grown up, at +last." + +"Ah? I can not express to you how it gratifies me to have a Ffrench +representing me in public; have you seen the morning journals?" + +"I have just come down-stairs." + +He picked up the newspaper beside him and passed across the folded +page. + +"_All in readiness for Beach Contest_," the head-lines ran. "_Last big +driver to arrive, Lestrange is in Mercury camp with R. Ffrench, +representative of Company._" + +And there was a blurred picture of a speeding car with driver and +mechanician masked to goblinesque non-identity, with the legend +underneath: "'_Darling' Lestrange, in his Mercury on the Georgia +course._" + +"Next year I shall make him part owner. It was always my poor +brother's desire to have the future name still Ffrench and Ffrench. He +was not thinking of Richard then; he had hope of--" + +Emily lifted her gaze from the picture, recalled to attention by the +break. + +"Of?" she echoed vaguely. + +"Of one who is unworthy thought. Richard has redeemed our family from +extinction; that is at rest." He paused for an instant. "My dear +child, when you are married and established, I shall be content." + +Her breathing quickened, her courage rose to the call of the moment. + +"If Dick is here, if he is instead of a substitute," she said, +carefully quiet in manner, "would it matter, since I am only a girl, +whom I married, Uncle Ethan?" + +The recollection of that evening when Emily had given her promise of +aid, stirred under Mr. Ffrench's self-absorbtion. He looked across the +table at her colorless, eager face with perhaps his first thought of +what that promise might have cost her. + +"No," he replied kindly. "It is part of my satisfaction that you are +set free to follow your own choice, without thought of utility or +fortune. Of course, I need not say provided the man is of your own +class and associations. We will fear no more low marriages." + +She had known it before, but it was hard to hear the sentence embodied +in words. Emily folded her hands over the paper in her lap and the +pleasant breakfast-room darkened before her. Mr. Ffrench continued +speaking of Dick, unheard. + +When the long meal was ended and her uncle withdrew to meet Bailey in +the library, Emily escaped outdoors. There was a quaint summer-house +part way down the park, an ancient white pavilion standing beside the +brook that gurgled by on its way to the Hudson, where the young girl +often passed her hours. She went there now, carrying her little +work-basket and the newspaper containing the picture of Lestrange. + +"I will save it," was her thought. "Perhaps I may find better +ones--this does not show his face--but I will have this now. It may be +a long time before I see him." + +But she sat with the embroidery scissors in her hand, nevertheless, +without cutting the reprint. Lestrange would return to the factory, +she never doubted, and all would continue as before, except that she +must not see him. He would understand that it was not possible for +anything else to happen, at least for many years. Perhaps, after Dick +was married-- + +The green and gold beauty of the morning hurt her with the memory of +that other sunny morning, when he had so easily taken from her the +task she hated and strove to bear. And he had succeeded, how he had +succeeded! Who else in the world could have so transformed Dick? +Leaning on the table, her round chin in her palm as she gazed down at +the paper in her lap, her fancy slipped back to that night on the +Long Island road, when she had first seen his serene genius for +setting all things right. How like him that elimination of Dick, +instead of a romantic and impracticable attempt to escort her himself. + +A bush crackled stiffly at some one's passage; a shadow fell across +her. + +"Caught!" laughed Lestrange's glad, exultant voice. "Since you look at +the portrait, how shall the original fear to present himself? See, I +can match." He held out a card burned at the corners and streaked with +dull red, "The first time I saw your writing, and found my own name +there." + +Amazed, Emily sat up, and met in his glowing face all incarnate joy of +life and youth. + +"Oh!" she gasped piteously. + +"You are surprised that I am here? My dear, my dear, after last night +did you think I could be anywhere else?" + +"The race--" + +"I know that track too well to need much practise, and I had the +machine out at dawn. My partner is busy practising this morning, and +I'll be back in a couple of hours. I was afraid," the gray eyes were +so gentle in their brilliancy, "I was afraid you might worry, Emily." + +Serenely he assumed possession of her, and the assumption was very +sweet. He had not touched her, yet Emily had the sensation of brutally +thrusting him away when she spoke: + +"How could I do anything else," she asked with desolation, "since we +must never meet each other any more? Only, you will not go far +away--you will stay where I can sometimes see you as we pass? I--I +think I could not bear it to have you go away." + +"Emily!" + +The scissors clinked sharply to the floor as she held out her white +hands in deprecation of his cry; the tears rushed to her eyes. + +"You know, you know! I am not free; I am Emily Ffrench. I can not fail +my uncle and grieve him as his son did. Oh, I will never marry any one +else, and we will hear of each other; I can read in the papers and +Dick will tell me of you. It will be something to be so close, down +there and up here." + +"Emily!" + +"You are not angry? You will not be angry? You know I can do nothing +else, please say you know." + +He came nearer and took both cold little hands in his clasp, bending +to her the shining gravity of his regard. + +"Did you think me such a selfish animal, my dear, that I would have +kissed you when I could not claim you?" he asked. "Did you think I +could forget you were Emily Ffrench; even by moonlight?" + +Her fair head fell back, her dark eyes questioned his. + +"You--mean--" + +"I mean that even your uncle can not deny my inherited quality of +gentleman. I am no millionaire incognito. I have driven racing cars +and managed this factory to earn my living, having no other dependence +than upon myself, but my blood is as old as yours, little girl, if +that means anything." + +"Not to me," she cried, looking up into his eyes. "Not to me, but to +him. I cared for _you_--" + +He drew her toward him, unresisting, their gaze still on each other. +As from the first, there was no shyness between them, but the strange, +exquisite understanding now made perfect. + +"I was right to come to you," he declared, after a time. "Right to +fear that you were troubled, conscientious lady. But I must go back, +or there will be a fine disturbance at the Beach. And I have shattered +my other plans to insignificant fragments, or you have. If I did not +forget by moonlight that you were Emily Ffrench, I certainly forgot +everything else." + +She looked up at him, her softly tinted face bright as his own, her +yellow hair rumpled into flossy tendrils under the black velvet +ribbon binding it. + +"Everything else?" she echoed. "Is there anything else but this?" + +"Nothing that counts, to me. You for my own, and this good world to +live in--I stand bareheaded before it all. But yet, I told you once +that I had a purpose to accomplish; a purpose now very near +completion. In a few months I meant to leave Ffrenchwood." + +Emily gave a faint cry. + +"Yes, for my work would have been done. Then I fell in love and upset +everything. When I tell Mr. Ffrench that I want you, I will have to +leave at once." + +"Why? You said--" + +"How brave are you, Emily?" he asked. "I said your uncle could not +question my name or birth, but I did not say he would want to give you +to me. Nor will he; unless I am mistaken. Are you going to be brave +enough to come to me, knowing he has no right to complain, since you +and I together have given him Dick?" + +"He does not know you; how can you tell he does not like you?" she +urged. + +"Do you think he likes 'Darling' Lestrange of the race course?" + +The sudden keen demand disconcerted her. + +"I hear a little down there," he added. "I have not been fortunate +with your kinsman. No, it is for you to say whether Ethan Ffrench's +unjust caprice is a bar between us. To me it is none." + +"I thought there was to be no more trouble," she faltered, +distressed. + +Lestrange looked down at her steadily, his gray eyes darkening to an +expression she had never seen. + +"Have I no right?" was his question. "Is there no cancelling of a +claim, is there no subsequent freedom? Is it all no use, Emily?" + +Vaguely awed and frightened, her fingers tightened on his arm in a +panic of surrender. + +"I will come to you, I will come! You know best what is right--I trust +you to tell me. Forgive me, dear, I wanted to--" + +He silenced her, all the light flashing back to his face. + +"A promise; hush! Oh, I shall win to-night with that singing in my +ears. I have more to say to you, but not now. I must see Bailey, +somehow, before I go." + +"He is at the house; let me send him here to you." + +"If you come back with him." + +They laughed together. + +"I will--Do you know," her color deepened rosily, "they all call you +'Darling'; I have never heard your own name." + +"My name is David," Lestrange said quietly, and kissed her for +farewell. + +The earth danced under Emily's feet as she ran across the lawns, the +sun glowed warm, the brook tinkled over the cascades in a very madness +of mirth. At the head of the veranda steps she turned to look once +more at the roof of the white pavilion among the locust trees. + +"Uncle will like you when he knows you," she laughed in her heart. +"Any one _must_ like you." + +The servant she met in the hall said that Mr. Bailey had gone out, and +Mr. Ffrench also, but separately, the former having taken the short +route across toward the factory. That way Emily went in pursuit, +intending to overtake him with her pony cart. + +But upon reaching the stables, past which the path ran, she found +Bailey himself engaged in an inspection of the limousine in company +with the chauffeur. + +"You'll have to look into her differential, Anderson," he was +pronouncing, when the young girl came beside him. + +"Come, please," she urged breathlessly. + +"Come?" repeated Bailey, wheeling, with his slow benevolent smile. +"Sure, Miss Emily; where?" + +She shook her head, not replying until they were safely outside; +then: + +"To Mr. Lestrange; he is in the pavilion. He wants to see you." + +"To Lestrange!" he almost shouted, halting. "Lestrange, here?" + +"Yes. There is time; he says there is time. He is going back as soon +as he sees you." + +"But what's he doing here? What does he mean by risking his neck +without any practice?" + +"He came to see me," she whispered, and stood confessed. + +"God!" said Bailey, quite reverently, after a moment of speechless +stupefaction. "You, and him!" + +She lifted confiding eyes to him, moving nearer. + +"It is a secret, but I wanted you to know because you like us both. +Dick said you loved Mr. Lestrange." + +"Yes," was the dazed assent. + +"Well, then--But come, he is waiting." + +She was sufficiently unlike the usual Miss Ffrench to bewilder any +one. Bailey dumbly followed her back across the park, carrying his hat +in his hand. + +A short distance from the pavilion Emily stopped abruptly, turning a +startled face to her companion. + +"Some one is there," she said. "Some one is speaking. I forgot that +Uncle Ethan had gone out." + +She heard Bailey catch his breath oddly. Her own pulses began to beat +with heavy irregularity, as a few steps farther brought the two +opposite the open arcade. There they halted, frozen. + +In the place Emily had left, where all her feminine toys still lay, +Mr. Ffrench was seated as one exhausted by the force of overmastering +emotion; his hands clenched on the arms of the chair, his face drawn +with passion. Opposite him stood Lestrange, colorless and still as +Emily had never conceived him, listening in absolute silence to the +bitter address pouring from the other's lips with a low-toned violence +indescribable. + +"I told you then, never again to come here," first fell upon Emily's +conscious hearing. "I supposed you were at least Ffrench enough to +take a dismissal. What do you want here, money? I warned you to live +upon the allowance sent every month to your bankers, for I would pay +no more even to escape the intolerable disgrace of your presence here. +Did you imagine me so deserted that I would accept even you as a +successor? Wrong; you are not missed. My nephew Richard takes your +place, and is fit to take it. Go back to Europe and your low-born +wife; there is no lack in my household." + +The voice broke in an excess of savage triumph, and Lestrange took the +pause without movement or gesture. + +"I am going, sir, and I shall never come back," he answered, never +more quietly. "I can take a dismissal, yes. If ever I have wished +peace or hoped for an accord that never existed between us, I go cured +of such folly. But hear this much, since I am arraigned at your bar: I +have never yet disgraced your name or mine unless by the boy's +mischief which sent me from college. The money you speak of, I have +never used; ask Bailey of it, if you will." He hesitated, and in the +empty moment there came across the mile of June air the roaring noon +whistle of the factory. Involuntarily he turned his head toward the +call, but as instantly recovered himself from the self-betrayal. +"There is another matter to be arranged, but there is no time now. Nor +even in concluding it will I come here again, sir." + +There was that in his bearing, in the dignified carefulness of +courtesy with which he saluted the other before turning to go, that +checked even Ethan Ffrench. But as Lestrange crossed the threshold of +the little building, Emily ran from the thicket to meet him, her eyes +a dark splendor in her white face, her hands outstretched. + +"Not like this!" she panted. "Not without seeing me! Oh, I might have +guessed--" + +His vivid color and animation returned as he caught her to him, +heedless of witnesses. + +"You dare? My dear, my dear, not even a question? There is no one like +you. Say, shall I take you now, or send Dick for you after the race?" + +Mr. Ffrench exclaimed some inarticulate words, but neither heard him. + +"Send Dick," Emily answered, her eyes on the gray eyes above her. +"Send Dick--I understand, I will come." + +He kissed her once, then she drew back and he went down the terraces +toward the gates. As Emily sank down on the bench by the pavilion +door, Bailey brushed past her, running after the straight, lithe +figure that went steadily on out of sight among the huge trees planted +and tended by five generations of Ffrenches. + +When the vistas of the park were empty, Emily slowly turned to face +her uncle. + +"You love David Ffrench?" he asked, his voice thin and harsh. + +"Yes," she answered. She had no need to ask if Lestrange were meant. + +"He is married to some woman of the music-halls." + +"No." + +"How do you know? He has told you?" + +She lifted to him the superb confidence of her glance, although +nervous tremors shook her in wavelike succession. + +"If he had been married, he would not have made me care for him. He +has asked me to be his wife." + +They were equally strange to each other in these new characters, and +equally spent by emotion. Neither moving, they sat opposite each other +in silence. So Bailey found them when he came back later, to take his +massive stand in the doorway, his hands in his pockets and his strong +jaw set. + +"I think that things are kind of mixed up here, Mr. Ffrench," he +stated grimly. "I guess I'm the one to straighten them out a bit; I've +loved Mr. David from the time he was a kid and never saw him get a +square deal yet. You asked him what he was doing here--I'll tell you; +he is Lestrange." + +There is a degree of amazement which precludes speech; Mr. Ffrench +looked back at his partner, mute. + +"He is Lestrange. He never meant you to know; he'd have left without +your ever knowing, but for Miss Emily. I guess I don't need to remind +you of what he's done; if it hadn't been for him we might have closed +our doors some day. He understands the business as none of us +back-number, old-fashioned ones do; he took hold and shook some life +into it. We can make cars, but he can make people buy them. +Advertising! Why, just that fool picture he drew on the back of a pad, +one day, of a row of thermometers up to one hundred forty, with the +sign 'Mercuries are at the top,' made more people notice." + +Bailey cleared his throat. "He was always making people notice, and +laughing while he did it. He's risked his neck on every course going, +to bring our cars in first, he's lent his fame as a racing driver to +help us along. And now everything is fixed the way we want, he's +thrown out. What did he do it for? He thought he needed to square +accounts with you, for being born, I suppose; so when he heard how +things were going with us he came to me and offered his help. At +least, that's what he said. I believe he came because he couldn't bear +to see the place go under." + +There was a skein of blue silk swinging over the edge of the table. +Mr. Ffrench picked it up and replaced it in Emily's work-basket before +replying. + +"If this remarkable story is true," he began, accurately precise in +accent. + +"You don't need me to tell you it is," retorted Bailey. "You know what +my new manager's been doing; why, you disliked him without seeing him, +but you had to admit his good work. And I heard you talking about his +allowance, Mr. Ffrench. He never touched it, not from the first; it +piled up for six years. Last April, when we needed cash in a hurry, he +drew it out and gave it to me to buy aluminum. When he left here first +he drove a taxicab in New York City until he got into racing work and +made Darling Lestrange famous all over the continent. I guess it went +pretty hard for a while; if he'd been the things you called him, he'd +have gone to the devil alone in New York. But, he didn't." + +An oriole darted in one arcade and out again with a musical whir of +wings. The clink of glass and silver sounded from the house windows +with a pleasant cheeriness and suggestion of comfort and plenty. + +"He made good," Bailey concluded thoughtfully. "But it sounded queer +to me to hear you tell him you didn't want him around because Mr. Dick +took his place. I know, and Miss Emily knows, that Dick Ffrench was no +use on earth for any place until Mr. David took him in hand and made +him fit to live. That's all, I guess, that I had to say; I'll get back +to work." He turned, but paused to glance around. "It's going to be +pretty dull at the factory for me. And between us we've sent Lestrange +to the track with a nice set of nerves." + +His retreating footsteps died away to leave the noon hush unbroken. As +before, uncle and niece were left opposite each other, the crumpled +newspaper where Lestrange's name showed in heavy type still lying on +the floor between them. + +The effect of Bailey's final sentence had been to leave Emily dizzied +by apprehension. But when Mr. Ffrench rose and passed out, she aroused +to look up at him eagerly. + +"Uncle," she faltered. + +Disregarding or unseeing her outstretched hand, he went on and left +her there alone. And then Emily dared rescue the newspaper. + +"A substitute," she whispered. "A substitute," and laid her wet cheek +against the pictured driver. + +No one lunched at the Ffrench home that day, except the servants. Near +three o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Ffrench came back to the pavilion +where Emily still sat. + +"Go change your gown," he commanded, in his usual tone. "We will start +now. I have sent for Bailey and ordered Anderson to bring the +automobile." + +"Start?" she wondered, bewildered. + +He met her gaze with a stately repellence of comment. + +"For the Beach. I understand this race lasts twenty-four hours. Have +you any objection?" + +Objection to being near David! Emily sprang to her feet. + + + + +VIII + + +Six o'clock was the hour set for the start of the Beach race. And it +was just seventeen minutes past five when Dick Ffrench, hanging in a +frenzy of anxiety over the paddock fence circling the inside of the +mile oval, uttered something resembling a howl and rushed to the gate +to signal his recreant driver. From the opposite side of the track +Lestrange waved gay return, making his way through the officials and +friends who pressed around him to shake hands or slap his shoulder +caressingly, jesting and questioning, calling directions and advice. A +brass band played noisily in the grand-stand, where the crowd heaved +and surged; the racing machines were roaring in their camps. + +"What's the matter? Where were you?" cried Dick, when at last +Lestrange crossed the course to the central field. "The cars are going +out now for the preliminary run. Rupert's nearly crazy, snarling at +everybody, and the other man has been getting ready to start instead +of you." + +"Well, he can get unready," smiled Lestrange. "Keep cool, Ffrench; +I've got half an hour and I could start now. I'm ready." + +He was ready; clad in the close-fitting khaki costume whose immaculate +daintiness gave no hint of the certainty that before the first six +hours ended it would be a wreck of yellow dust and oil. As he paused +in running an appraising glance down the street-like row of tents, +the white-clothed driver of a spotless white car shot out on his way +to the track, but halted opposite the latest arrival to stretch down a +cordial hand. + +"I hoped a trolley-car had bitten you," he shouted. "The rest of us +would have more show if you got lost on the way, Darling." + +The boyish driver at the next tent looked up as they passed, and came +over grinning to give his clasp. + +"Get a move on; what you been doin' all day, dear child? They've been +givin' your manager sal volatile to hold him still." He nodded at the +agitated Dick in ironic commiseration. + +"Go get out your car, Darling; I want to beat you," chaffed the next +in line. + +"'Strike up the band, here comes a driver,'" sang another, with an +entrancing French accent. + +Laughing, retorting, shaking hands with each comrade rival, Lestrange +went down the row to his own tent. At his approach a swarm of +mechanics from the factory stood back from the long, low, gray car, +the driver who was to relieve him during the night and day ordeal +slipped down from the seat and unmasked. + +"He's here," announced Dick superfluously. "Rupert--where's Rupert? +Don't tell me _he's_ gone now! Lestrange--" + +But Rupert was already emerging from the tent with Lestrange's +gauntlets and cap, his expression a study in the sardonic. + +"It hurts me fierce to think how you must have hurried," he observed. +"Did you walk both ways, or only all three? I'm no Eve, but I'd give a +snake an apple to know where you've been all day." + +"Would you?" queried Lestrange provokingly, clasping the goggles +before his eyes. "Well, I've spent the last two hours on the Coney +Island beach, about three squares from here, watching the kiddies play +in the sand. I didn't feel like driving just then. It was mighty +soothing, too." + +Rupert stared at him, a dry unwilling smile slowly crinkling his dark +face. + +"Maybe, Darling," he drawled, and turned to make his own preparations. + +Fascinated and useless, Dick looked on at the methodical flurry of the +next few moments; until Lestrange was in his seat and Rupert swung in +beside him. Then a gesture summoned him to the side of the machine. + +"I'll run in again before we race, of course," said Lestrange to him, +above the deafening noise of the motor. "Be around here; I want to see +you." + +Rupert leaned out, all good-humor once more as he pointed to the +machine. + +"Got a healthy talk, what?" he exulted. + +The car darted forward. + +A long round of applause welcomed Lestrange's swooping advent on the +track. Handkerchiefs and scarfs were waved; his name passed from mouth +to mouth. + +"Popular, ain't he?" chuckled a mechanic next to Dick. "They don't +forget that Georgia trick, no, sir." + +It was not many times that the cars could circle the track. Quarter of +six blew from whistles and klaxons, signal flags sent the cars to +their camps for the last time before the race. + +"Come here," Lestrange beckoned to Dick, as he brought his machine +shuddering to a standstill before the tent. "Here, close--we've got a +moment while they fill tanks." + +He unhooked his goggles and leaned over as Dick came beside the wheel, +the face so revealed bright and quiet in the sunset glow of color. + +"One never knows what may happen," he said. "I'd rather tell you now +than chance your feeling afterward that I didn't treat you quite +squarely in keeping still. I hope you won't take it as my father did; +we've been good chums, you and I. I'm your cousin, David Ffrench." + +The moment furnished no words. Dick leaned against the car, absolutely +limp. + +"Of course, I'm not going back to Ffrenchwood. After this race I shall +go to the Duplex Company; I used to be with them and they've wanted me +back. Your company can get along without me, now all is running +well--indeed, Mr. Ffrench has dismissed me." His firm lip bent a +little more firmly. "The work I was doing is in your hands and +Bailey's; see it through. Unless you too want to break off with me, +we'll have more time to talk over this." + +"Break off!" Dick straightened his chubby figure. "Break off with you, +Les--" + +"Go on. My name is Lestrange now and always." + +A shriek from the official klaxon summoned the racers, Rupert swung +back to his seat. Dick reached up his hand to the other in the first +really dignified moment of his life. + +"I'm glad you're my kin, Lestrange," he said. "I've liked you anyhow, +but I'm glad, just the same. And I don't care what rot they say of +you. Take care of yourself." + +Lestrange bared his hand to return the clasp, his warm smile flashing +to his cousin; then the swirl of preparation swept between them and +Dick next saw him as a part of one of the throbbing, flaming row of +machines before the judges' stand. + +It was not a tranquilizing experience for an amateur to witness the +start, when the fourteen powerful cars sprang simultaneously for the +first curve, struggling for possession of the narrow track in a wheel +to wheel contest where one mistouch meant the wreck of many. After +that first view, Dick sat weakly down on an oil barrel and watched the +race in a state of fascinated endurance. + +The golden and violet sunset melted pearl-like into the black cup of +night. The glare of many searchlights made the track a glistening band +of white around which circled the cars, themselves gemmed with white +and crimson lamps. The cheers of the people as the lead was taken by +one favorite or another, the hum of voices, the music and uproar of +the machines blended into a web of sound indescribable. The spectacle +was at once ultramodern and classic in antiquity of conception. + +At eight o'clock Lestrange came flying in, sent off the track to have +a lamp relighted. + +"Water," he demanded tersely, in the sixty seconds of the stop, and +laughed openly at Dick's expression while he took the cup. + +"Why didn't you light it out there?" asked the novice, infected by the +speed fever around him. + +"Forgot our matches," Rupert flung over his shoulder, as they dashed +out again. + +An oil-smeared mechanic patronizingly explained: + +"You can't have cars manicuring all over the track and people tripping +over 'em. You get sent off to light up, and if you don't go they fine +you laps made." + +Machines darted in and out from their camps at intervals, each waking +a frenzy of excitement among its men. At ten o'clock the Mercury car +came in again, this time limping with a flat tire, to be fallen on by +its mechanics. + +"We're leading, but we'll lose by this," said Lestrange, slipping out +to relax and meditatively contemplating the alternate driver, who was +standing across the camp. "Ffrench, at twelve I'll have to come in to +rest some, and turn my machine over to the other man. And I won't have +him wrecking it for me. I want you, as owner, to give him absolute +orders to do no speeding; let him hold a fifty-two mile an hour +average until I take the wheel again." + +"Me?" + +"I can't do it. You, of course." + +"You could," Dick answered. "I've been thinking how you and I will +run that factory together. It's all stuff about your going away; why +should you? You and your father take me as junior partner; you know +I'm not big enough for anything else." + +"You're man's size," Lestrange assured, a hand on his shoulder. +"But--it won't do. I'll not forget the offer, though, never." + +"All on!" a dozen voices signaled; men scattered in every direction as +Lestrange sprang to his place. + +The hours passed on the wheels of excitement and suspense. When +Lestrange came in again, only a watch convinced Dick that it was +midnight. + +"You gave the order?" Lestrange asked. + +"Yes." + +He descended, taking off his mask and showing a face white with +fatigue under the streaks of dust and grime. + +"I'll be all right in half an hour," he nodded, in answer to Dick's +exclamation. "Send one of the boys for coffee, will you, please? +Rupert needs some, too. Here, one of you others, ask one of those idle +doctor's apprentices to come over with a fresh bandage; my arm's a +trifle untidy." + +In fact, his right sleeve was wet and red, where the strain of driving +had reopened the injury of the day before. But he would not allow Dick +to speak of it. + +"I'm going to spend an hour or two resting. Come in, Ffrench, and +we'll chat in the intervals, if you like." + +"And Rupert? Where's he?" Dick wondered, peering into the dark with a +vague impression of lurking dangers on every side. + +"He's hurried in out of the night air," reassured familiar accents; a +small figure lounged across into the light, making vigorous use of a +dripping towel. "Tell Darling I feel faint and I'm going over to that +grand-stand cafe _a la_ car to get some pie. I'll be back in time to +read over my last lesson from the chauffeurs' correspondence school. +Oh, see what's here!" + +A telegraph messenger boy had come up to Dick. + +"Richard Ffrench?" he verified. "Sign, please." + +The message was from New York. + +"All coming down," Dick read. "Limousine making delay. Wire me St. +Royal of race. Bailey." + +Far from pleased, young Ffrench hurriedly wrote the desired answer and +gave it to the boy to be sent. But he thrust the yellow envelope into +his pocket before turning to the tent where Lestrange was drinking +cheap black coffee while an impatient young surgeon hovered near. + +The hour's rest was characteristically spent. Washed, bandaged, and +refreshed, Lestrange dropped on a cot in the back of the tent and +pushed a roll of motor garments beneath his head for a pillow. There +he intermittently spoke to his companion of whatever the moment +suggested; listening to every sound of the race and interspersing +acute comment, starting up whenever the voice of his own machine +hinted that the driver was disobeying instructions or the shrill +klaxon gave warning of trouble. But through it all Dick gathered much +of the family story. + +"My mother was a Californian," Lestrange once said, coming back from a +tour of inspection. "She was twenty times as much alive as any Ffrench +that ever existed, I've been told. I fancy she passed that quality on +to me--you know she died when I was born--for I nearly drove the +family mad. They expected the worst of me, and I gave the best worst I +had. But," he turned to Dick the clear candor of his smile, "it was +rather a decent worst, I honestly believe. The most outrageous thing I +ever did was to lead a set of seniors in hoisting a cow into the +Dean's library, one night, and so get myself expelled from college." + +"A cow?" the other echoed. + +"A fat cow, and it mooed," he stuffed the pillow into a more +comfortable position. "Is that our car running in? No, it's just +passing. If Frank doesn't wreck my machine, I'll get this race. And +then, the same week, my chum and room-mate ran away with a Doraflora +girl of some variety show and married her. I was romantic myself at +twenty-one, so I helped him through with it. He was wealthy and she +was pretty; it seemed to fit. I believe they've stayed married ever +since, by the way. But somehow the reporters got affairs mixed and +published me as the bridegroom. Have you got a cigar? I smoke about +three times a year, and this is one of them. Yes, there was a fine +scene when I went home that night, a Broadway melodrama. I lost my +temper easier then; by the time my father and uncle gave me time to +speak, I was too angry to defend myself and set them right. I supposed +they would learn the truth by the next day, anyhow. And I left home +for good in a dinner-coat and raglan, with something under ten dollars +in odd change. What's that!" + +"That" was the harsh alarm of the official klaxon, coupled with the +cry of countless voices. The ambulance gong clanged as Lestrange +sprang to his feet and reached the door. + +"Which car?" he called. + +Rupert answered first: + +"Not ours. Number eight's burning up after a smash on the far turn." + +"Jack's car," identified Lestrange, and stood for an instant. "Go flag +Frank; I'll take the machine again myself. It's one o'clock, and I've +got to win this race." + +Several men ran across to the track in compliance. Lestrange turned to +make ready, but paused beside the awed Dick to look over the infield +toward the flaming blotch against the dark sky. + +"He was in to change a tire ten minutes ago," observed Rupert, beside +them. "'Tell Lestrange I'm doin' time catchin' him,' he yelled to me. +Here's hoping his broncho machine pitched him clear from the +fireworks." + +When the Mercury car swung in, a few moments later, Lestrange lingered +for a last word to Dick. + +"I'm engaged to Emily," he said gravely. "I don't know what she will +hear of me; if anything happens, I've told you the truth. I'm old +enough to see it now. And I tried to square things." + + + + +IX + + +In the delicate, fresh June dawn, the Ffrench limousine crept into the +Beach inclosure. + +"We're here," said Bailey, to his traveling companions. "You can't +park the car front by the fence; Mr. David might see you and kill +himself by a misturn. Come up to the grand-stand seats." + +Mr. Ffrench got out in silence and assisted Emily to descend; a pale +and wide-eyed Emily behind her veil. + +"The boys were calling extras," she suggested faintly. "They said +three accidents on the track." + +Bailey turned to a blue and gold official passing. + +"Number seven all right?" he asked. + +"On the track, Lestrange driving," was the prompt response. "Leading +by thirty-two miles." + +A little of Emily's color rushed back. Satisfied, Bailey led the way +to the tiers of seats, almost empty at this hour. Pearly, +unsubstantial in the young light, lay the huge oval meadow and the +track edging it. Of the fourteen cars starting, nine were still +circling their course, one temporarily in its camp for supplies. + +"I've sent over for Mr. Dick," Bailey informed the other two. "He's +been here, and he can tell what's doing. Four cars are out of the +race. There's Mr. David, coming!" + +A gray machine shot around the west curve, hurtled roaring down the +straight stretch past the stand and crossed before them, the +mechanician rising in his seat to catch the pendant linen streamers +and wipe the dust from the driver's goggles in preparation for the +"death turn" ahead. There was a series of rapid explosions as the +driver shut off his motor, the machine swerved almost facing the +infield fence and slid around the bend with a skidding lurch that +threw a cloud of soil high in the air. Emily cried out, Mr. Ffrench +half rose in his place. + +"What's the matter?" dryly queried Bailey. "He's been doing that all +night; and a mighty pretty turn he makes, too. He's been doing it for +about five years, in fact, to earn his living, only we didn't see him. +Here goes another." + +Mr. Ffrench put on his pince-nez, preserving the dignity of outward +composure. Emily saw and heard nothing; she was following Lestrange +around the far sides of the course, around until again he flashed +past her, repeating his former feat with appalling exactitude. + +It was hardly more than five minutes before Dick came hurrying toward +them; cross, tired, dust-streaked and gasolene-scented. + +"I don't see why you wanted to come," he began, before he reached +them. "I'm busy enough now. We're leading; if Lestrange holds out +we'll win. But he's driving alone; Frank went out an hour ago, on the +second relief, when he went through the paddock fence and broke his +leg. It didn't hurt the machine a bit, except tires, but it lost us +twenty-six laps. And it leaves Lestrange with thirteen steady hours at +the wheel. He says he can do it." + +"He's fit?" Bailey questioned. + +Dick turned a peevish regard upon him. + +"I don't know what you call fit. He says he is. His hands are +blistered already, his right arm has been bandaged twice where he hurt +it pulling me away from the gear-cutter yesterday, and he's had three +hours' rest out of the last eleven. See that heap of junk over there; +that's where the Alan car burned up last night and sent its driver and +mechanician to the hospital. I suppose if Lestrange isn't fit and +makes a miscue we'll see something like that happen to him and +Rupert." + +"No!" Emily cried piteously. + +Remorse clutched Dick. + +"I forgot you, cousin," he apologized. "Don't go off; Lestrange swears +he feels fine and gibes at me for worrying. Don't look like that." + +"Richard, you will go down and order our car withdrawn from the race," +Mr. Ffrench stated, with his most absolute finality. "This has +continued long enough. If we had not been arrested in New York for +exceeding the speed limit, I should have been here to end this scene +at midnight." + +Stunned, his nephew stared at him. + +"Withdraw!" + +"Precisely. And desire David to come here." + +"I won't," said Dick flatly. "If you want to rub it into Lestrange +that way, send Bailey. And I say it's a confounded shame." + +"Richard!" + +His round face ablaze, Dick thrust his hands in his pockets, facing +his uncle stubbornly. + +"After his splendid fight, to stop him now? Do you know how they take +being put out, those fellows? Why, when the Italian car went off the +track for good, last night, with its chain tangled up with everything +underneath, its driver sat down and cried. And you'd come down on +Lestrange when he's winning--I won't do it, I won't! Send Bailey; I +can't tell him." + +"If you want to discredit the car and its driver, Mr. Ffrench, you can +do it without me," slowly added Bailey. "But it won't be any use to +send for Mr. David, because he won't come." + +The autocrat of his little world looked from one rebel to the other, +confronted with the unprecedented. + +"If I wish to withdraw him, it is to place him out of danger," he +retorted with asperity. "Not because I wish to mortify him, +naturally. Is that clear? Does he want to pass the next thirteen hours +under this ordeal?" + +"I'll tell you what he wants," answered Dick. "He wants to be let +alone. It seems to me he's earned that." + +Ethan Ffrench opened his lips, and closed them again without speech. +It had not been his life's habit to let people alone and the art was +acquired with difficulty. + +"I admit I do not comprehend the feelings you describe," he conceded, +at last. "But there is one person who has the right to decide whether +David shall continue this risk of his life. Emily, do you wish the car +withdrawn?" + +There was a gasp from the other two men. + +"I?" the young girl exclaimed, amazed. "I can call him here--safe--" + +Her voice died out as Lestrange's car roared past, overtaking two +rivals on the turn and sliding between them with an audacity that +provoked rounds of applause from the spectators. To call him in from +that, to have him safe with her--the mere thought was a delight that +caught her breath. Yet, she knew Lestrange. + +The three men watched her in keen suspense. The Mercury car had passed +twice again before she raised her head, and in that space of a hundred +seconds Emily reached the final unselfishness. + +"What David wants," she said. "Uncle, what David wants." + +"You're a brick!" cried Dick, in a passion of relief. "Emily, you're a +brick!" + +She looked at him with eyes he never forgot. + +"If anything happens to him, I hope I die too," she answered, and drew +the silk veil across her face. + +"Go back, Mr. Dick, you're no good here," advised Bailey, in the +pause. "I guess Miss Emily is right, Mr. Ffrench; we've got nothing to +do but look on, for David Ffrench was wiped out to make Darling +Lestrange." + +Having left the decision to Emily, it was in character that her uncle +offered no remonstrance when she disappointed his wish. Nor did he +reply to Bailey's reminder of who had sent David Ffrench to the track. +But he did adopt the suggestion to look on, and there was sufficient +to see. + +When Lestrange came into his camp for oil and gasolene, near eight +o'clock, Dick seized the brief halt, the first in three hours. + +"Emily's up in the stand," he announced. "Send her a word, old man; +and don't get reckless in front of her." + +"Emily?" echoed Lestrange, too weary for astonishment. "Give me a +pencil. No, I can't take off my gauntlet; it's glued fast. I'll +manage. Rupert, go take an hour's rest and send me the other +mechanician." + +"I can't get off my car; it's glued fast," Rupert confided, leaning +over the back of the machine to appropriate a sandwich from the basket +a man was carrying to the neighboring camp. "Go on with your +correspondence, dearest." + +So resting the card Dick supplied on the steering-wheel, Lestrange +wrote a difficult two lines. + +He was out again on the track when Dick brought the message to Emily. + +"I just told him you were here, cousin," he whispered at her ear, and +dropped the card in her lap. + + "I'll enjoy this more than ever, with you here," she read. + "It's the right place for my girl. I'll give you the cup for + our first dinner table, to-night. + + "DAVID." + +Emily lifted her face. The tragedy of the scene was gone, Lestrange's +eyes laughed at her out of a mist. The sky was blue, the sunshine +golden; the merry crowds commencing to pour in woke carnival in her +heart. + +"He said to tell you the machine was running magnificently," +supplemented Dick, "and not to insult his veteran reputation by +getting nervous. He's coming by--look." + +He was coming by; and, although unable to look toward the grand-stand, +he raised his hand in salute as he passed, to the one he knew was +watching. Emily flushed rosily, her dark eyes warm and shining. + +"I can wait," she sighed gratefully. "Dickie, I can wait until it +ends, now." + +Dick went back. + +The hours passed. One more car went out of the race under the grinding +test; there were the usual incidents of blown-out tires and temporary +withdrawals for repairs. Twice Mr. Ffrench sent his partner and Emily +to the restaurant below, tolerating no protests, but he himself never +left his seat. Perfectly composed, his expression perfectly +self-contained, he watched his son. + +The day grew unbearably hot toward afternoon, a heat rather of July +than June. After a visit to his camp Lestrange reappeared without the +suffocating mask and cap, driving bareheaded, with only the narrow +goggles crossing his face. The change left visible the drawn pallor of +exhaustion under stains of dust and oil, his rolled-back sleeves +disclosed the crimson bandage on his right arm and the fact that his +left wrist was tightly wound with linen where swollen and strained +muscles rebelled at the long trial. + +"He's been driving for nineteen hours," said Dick, climbing up to his +party through the excited crowd. "Two hours more to six o'clock. +Listen to the mob when he passes!" + +The injunction was unnecessary. As the sun slanted low the enthusiasm +grew to fever. This was a crowd of connoisseurs--motorists, +chauffeurs, automobile lovers and drivers--they knew what was being +done before them. The word passed that Lestrange was in his twentieth +hour; people climbed on seats to cheer him as he went by. When one of +his tires blew out, in the opening of the twenty-first hour of his +driving and the twenty-fourth of the race, the great shout of sympathy +and encouragement that went up shook the grand-stand to its cement +foundations. + +Neither Lestrange nor Rupert left his seat while that tire was +changed. + +"If we did I ain't sure we'd get back," Rupert explained to Dick, who +hovered around them agitatedly. "If I'd thought Darling's mechanician +would get in for this, I'd have taken in sewing for a living. How much +longer?" + +"Half an hour." + +"Well, watch us finish." + +A renewed burst of applause greeted the Mercury car's return to the +track. Men were standing watch in hand to count the last moments, +their eyes on the bulletin board where the reeled-off miles were being +registered. Two of the other machines were fighting desperately for +second place, hopeless of rivaling Lestrange, and after them sped the +rest. + +"The finish!" some one suddenly called. "The last lap!" + +Dick was hanging over the paddock fence when the car shot by amidst +braying klaxons, motor horns, cheers, and the clashing music of the +band. Frantic, the people hailed Lestrange as the black and white +checked flag dropped before him in proclamation of his victory and the +ended race. + +Rupert raised his arms above his head in the signal of acknowledgment, +as they flew across the line and swept on to complete the circle to +their camp. Lestrange slackened speed to take the dangerous, deeply +furrowed turn for the last time, his car poised for the curving flight +under his guidance--then the watching hundreds saw the driver's hands +slip from the steering-wheel as he reached for the brake. Straight +across the track the machine dashed, instead of following the bend, +crashed through the barrier, and rolled over on its side in the green +meadow grass. + +"The steering-knuckle!" Bailey groaned, as the place burst into uproar +around them. "The wheel--I saw it turn uselessly in his hands!" + +"They're up!" cried a dozen voices. "No, one's up and one's under." +"Who's caught in the wreck--Lestrange or his man?" + +But before the people who surged over the track, breaking all +restraint, before the electric ambulance, Dick Ffrench reached the +marred thing that had been the Mercury car. It was Lestrange who had +painfully struggled to one knee beside the machine, fighting hard for +breath to speak. + +"Take the car off Rupert," he panted, at Dick's cry of relief on +seeing him. "I'm all right--take the car off Rupert." + +The next instant they were surrounded, overwhelmed with eager aid. The +ambulance came up and a surgeon precipitated himself toward Lestrange. + +"Stand back," the surgeon commanded generally. "Are you trying to +smother him? Stand back." + +But it was he who halted before a gesture from Lestrange, who leaned +on Dick and a comrade from the camp. + +"Go over there, to Rupert." + +"You first--" + +"No." + +There was nothing to do except yield. Shrugging his shoulders, the +surgeon paused the necessary moment. A moment only; there was a +scattering of the hushed workers, a metallic crash. + +From the space the car had covered a small figure uncoiled, +lizardlike, and staggered unsteadily erect. + +"Where's Darling Lestrange?" was hurled viciously across the silence. +"Gee, you're a slow bunch of workers! Where's Lestrange?" + +The tumult that broke loose swept all to confusion. And after all it +was Lestrange who was put in the surgeon's care, while Rupert rode +back to the camp on the driver's seat of the ambulance. + +"Tell Emily I'll come over to her as soon as I'm fit to look at," was +the message Lestrange gave Dick. "And when you go back to the factory, +have your steering-knuckles strengthened." + +Dick exceeded his commission by transmitting the speech entire; +repeating the first part to Emily with all affectionate solicitude, +and flinging the second cuttingly at his uncle and Bailey. + +"The doctors say he ought to be in bed, but he won't go," he +concluded. "No, you can't see him until they get through patching him +up at the hospital tent; they put every one out except Rupert. _He_ +hasn't a scratch, after having a ninety Mercury on top of him. You're +to come over to our camp, Emily, and wait for Lestrange. I suppose +everybody had better come." + +It was a curious and an elevating thing to see Dickie assume command +of his family, but no one demurred. An official, recognizing in him +Lestrange's manager, cleared a way for the party through the noisy +press of departing people and automobiles. The very track was blocked +by a crowd too great for control. + +The sunset had long faded, night had settled over the motordrome and +the electric lamps had been lit in the tents, before there came a stir +and murmur in the Mercury camp. + +"Don't skid, the ground's wet," cautioned a voice outside the door. +"Steady!" + +Emily started up, Dick sprang to open the canvas, and Lestrange +crossed the threshold. Lestrange, colorless, his right arm in a sling, +his left wound with linen from wrist to elbow, and bearing a heavy +purple bruise above his temple, but with the brightness of victory +flashing above all weariness like a dancing flame. + +"Sweetheart!" he laughed, as Emily ran to meet him, heedless of all +things except that he stood within touch once more. "My dear, I told +them not to frighten you. Why, Emily--" + +For as he put his one available arm about her, she hid her wet eyes on +his shoulder. + +"I am so happy," she explained breathlessly. "It is only that." + +"You should not have been here at all, my dear. But it is good to see +you. Who brought you? Bailey?" catching sight of the man beside Dick. +"Good, I wanted some one to help me; Rupert and I have got to find a +hotel and we're not very active." + +Emily would have slipped away from the clasp, scarlet with returning +recollection, but Lestrange detained her to meet his shining eyes. + +"The race is over," he reminded, for her ears alone. "I'm going to +keep you, if you'll stay." + +He turned to take a limping step, offering his hand cordially to the +speechless Bailey, and faced for the first time the other man present. + +"I think," said Ethan Ffrench, "that there need be no question of +hotels. We have not understood each other, but you have the right to +Ffrenchwood's hospitality. If you can travel, we will go there." + +"No," answered David Ffrench, as quietly. "Never. You owe me nothing, +sir. If I have worked in your factory, I took the workman's wages for +it; if I have won honors for your car, I also won the prize-money +given to the driver. I never meant so to establish any claim upon +Ffrenchwood or you. I believe we stand even. Dick has taken my place, +happily; Emily and I will go on our own road." + +They looked at each other, the likeness between them most apparent, in +the similar determination of mood which wiped laughter and warmth from +the younger man's face. However coldly phrased and dictatorially +spoken, it was an apology which Mr. Ffrench had offered and which had +been declined. But--he had watched Lestrange all day; he did not lift +the gauntlet. + +"You are perfectly free," he conceded, "which gives you the +opportunity of being generous." + +His son moved, flushing through his pallor. + +"I wish you would not put it that way, sir," he objected. + +"There is no other way. I have been wrong and I have no control over +you; will you come home?" + +There was no other argument but that that could have succeeded, and +the three who knew Lestrange knew that could not fail. + +"You want me because I am a Ffrench," David rebelled in the final +protest. "You have a substitute." + +"Perhaps I want you otherwise. And we will not speak in passion; there +can be no substitute for you." + +"Ffrench and Ffrench," murmured Dick coaxingly. "We can run that +factory, Lestrange!" + +"There's more than steering-knuckles needing your eye on them. And you +love the place, Mr. David," said Bailey from his corner. + +From one to the other David's glance went, to rest on Emily's +delicate, earnest face in its setting of yellow-bronze curls. Full and +straight her dark eyes answered his, the convent-bred Emily's answer +to his pride and old resentment and new reluctance to yield his +liberty. + +"After all, you were born a Ffrench," she reminded, her soft accents +just audible. "If that is your work?" + +Very slowly David turned to his father. + +"I never learned to do things by halves," he said. "If you want me, +sir--" + +And Ethan Ffrench understood, and first offered his hand. + +Rupert was discovered asleep in a camp-chair outside the tent, a few +minutes later, when Dick went in search of him. + +"The limousine's waiting," his awakener informed him. "You don't feel +bad, do you?" + +The mechanician rose cautiously, wincing. + +"Well, if every joint in my chassis wasn't sore, I'd feel better," he +admitted grimly. "But I'm still running. What did you kiss me awake +for, when I need my sleeps?" + +"Did you suppose we could get Lestrange home without you, Jack +Rupert?" + +"I ain't supposing you could. I'm ready." + +The rest of the party were already in the big car, with one exception. + +"Take a last look, Rupert," bade David, as he stood in the dark +paddock. "We're retired; come help me get used to it." + +Rupert passed a glance over the deserted track. + +"I guess my sentiment-tank has given out," he sweetly acknowledged. +"The Mercury factory sounds pretty good to me, Darling. And I guess we +can make a joy ride out of living, on any track, if we enter for it." + +"I guess we can," laughed David Ffrench. "Get in opposite Emily. We're +going home to try." + + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Flying Mercury, by Eleanor M. 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