the road was heavy and slow. Up
hill and down they fought the road, at times slipping, lurching and
skidding while the girl coaxed the car onward. The road grew worse and
worse. The hills were steeper. The rain-guttered mud at times almost
stalled the car.

"Twenty miles in an hour and ten minutes," groaned McCarthy. "This
won't do."

The next hour was even worse. The girl was showing signs of weariness
and the strain of holding the machine in the rough going. Three miles
of good road across a hill-top plateau raised their courage, then they
encountered sand.

It was twenty minutes to two o'clock, when, mud splattered, they raced
into Hilton, with the car missing fire in one cylinder, the engine
smoking and gasoline almost exhausted.

McCarthy almost lifted Betty Tabor from the car as they stopped at the
garage and she gave rapid directions to the manager, explaining the
need of haste.

"I'm afraid the car won't get you through," he said, "but we'll try."

"Have it ready at two o'clock," she ordered quickly. "We must get
through somehow."

"It's thirty-four miles," he said. "But the roads are fair. If the
car was in shape it would be easy."

"We'll eat lunch while you overhaul it," she replied.

McCarthy secured the lunch from the car and they spread it upon the
grass in the yard and ate. The girl was too weary for conversation,
but as she ate she seemed to gain strength and courage.

"We'll get there before the game is over, anyhow," she said quietly.
"I want to see Williams's face when you come onto the field."

"I thought you and he"----

"I never have liked him," she interrupted quickly.

Three minutes before the town clock chimed the hour of two in Hilton,
the machine, again running smoothly, shot out from the garage. Its
occupants, refreshed and more cheerful, faced the final stretch of the
long race.

"Fourteen miles in twenty-one minutes," cried McCarthy, as the mile
posts flashed by. "We'll be there."

[Illustration: "FOURTEEN MILES IN TWENTY-ONE MINUTES"]

Ten minutes later the smoke haze that hangs eternally over the great
city of the Blues was visible. The country homes along the road over
which they sped were closer and closer together.

"Only ten more miles," McCarthy shouted triumphantly.

"We can cut across to the west here," she said as she swung the car
into an avenue. "This goes near the ball park and we'll save three
miles."

"Hurray," he shouted. "Then it's