ould 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