it, Rupert?"

"I guess you'd call it a raincoat," was the drawled reply. "I'd feel bad
to find you'd brought out your pajamas, for there ain't anything to do
except wear it, now."

"I'm not cold."

The mechanician nodded a brief return to Corrie's laughing salute, and
directed his sardonic black eyes to Gerard's right arm, which the
rolled-back sleeve left bare to the elbow.

"I ain't specially timid," he submitted. "If rheumatism is part of the
racing equipment you like to have with you, I'll just hurry home and
make my will before we start."

With an impatient shrug Gerard slipped into the garment.

"Thanks; you're worse than a wife. Rose, you know Jack Rupert, who's
sheer nerve when we're racing and sheer nerves when we're not."

"I surely do," Corrie warmly confirmed. "You rode with Mr. Gerard at the
Beach when he drove my car for me. I'm not likely to forget _that_."

The small, malignly intelligent mechanician contemplated him, unsmiling,
although far from unfriendly.

"I ride with Gerard," he acquiesced.

And only Gerard himself knew the history of service in the face of death
comprehended in the simple statement.

Thomas Rose, repeatedly millionaire and genially absolute dictator in
his circle of affairs, was not easy to gainsay. And he chose to assume
prompt possession of Gerard, almost before the introduction was over.

"Get right in," he commanded. "Never mind anything, get in; and we'll
talk about keeping you after we've had dinner. We'll stop at your hotel
for your things, if you want them."

"You're very good," Gerard began, and stopped, encountering Flavia's
eyes. Neither had spoken of their former meeting, indeed they had been
given no opportunity for speech, yet the acute recollection was a bond
between them.

"We do not wish to be insistent, Mr. Gerard," she said now, in her
fresh, soft tones. "But we should be very glad to have you."

Gerard continued to look at her, gravely attentive as she herself. She
was as exquisitely dressed as when he had caught her in his arms on the
stairs of the Beach grand-stand, the fragile hand she laid on the car
door carried the vivid flash of jewels. Somehow he divined that her
father exacted this, that in his pride of self-made millionaire he would
insist upon extravagance as other men might upon economy. And she would
yield. He remembered her playful speech at their first meeting: "I am
the only passive member of a strong-willed family." His impress