rk plugs
kept clean enough now so that she could command more power, but----

Between the Park and the transcontinental road there are many climbs
short but severely steep; up-shoots like the humps on a scenic railway.
To tackle them with her uncertain motor was like charging a machine-gun
nest. She spent her nerve-force lavishly, and after every wild rush to
make a climb, she had to rest, to rub the suddenly aching back of her
neck. Because she was so tired, she did not take the trouble to save her
brakes by going down in gear. She let the brakes smoke while the river
and railroad below rose up at her.

There was a long drop. How long it was she did not guess, because it was
concealed by a curve at the top. She seemed to plane down forever. The
brakes squealed behind. She tried to shift to first but there was a
jarring snarl, and she could neither get into first nor back into third.
She was running in neutral, the great car coasting, while she tried to
slow it by jamming down the foot-brake. The car halted--and started on
again. The brake-lining which had been wished on her at Saddle Back was
burnt out.

She had the feeling of the car bursting out from under control ... ready
to leap off the road, into a wash. She wanted to jump. It took all her
courage to stay in the seat. She got what pressure she could from the
remaining band. With one hand she kept the accelerating car in the
middle of the road; with the other she tried to pull the handle of the
emergency brake back farther. She couldn't. She was not strong enough.
Faster, faster, rushing at the next curve so that she could scarce steer
round it----

As quietly as she could, she demanded of her father, "Pull back on this
brake lever, far as you can. Take both hands."

"I don't understand----"

"Heavens! Y' don't haft un'stand! Yank back! Yank, I tell you!"

Again the car slowed. She was able to get into second speed. Even that
check did not keep the car from darting down at thirty miles an
hour--which pace, to one who desires to saunter down at a dignified rate
of eighteen, is equivalent in terms of mileage on level ground to
seventy an hour, with a drunken driver, on a foggy evening, amid
traffic.

She got the car down and, in the midst of a valley of emptiness and
quiet, she dropped her head on her father's knee and howled.

"I just can't face going down another hill! I just can't face it!" she
sobbed.

"No, dolly. Mustn't. We better---- You're quite