inventor his grasp
of the steering wheel, and the manner in which he could brace himself
against the foot pedals, held him more firmly in place. On and on they
rushed, covering mile after mile, and approaching Shopton where so much
depended on their arrival.

Good and bad stretches of the road alternated, but now that Tom had
seen of what mettle his car was made, he did not spare it as much as he
had on the first trip. He saw that his machine would stand hard knocks,
and the way the battery and motor was behaving was a joy to him. He
knew that if he could make that eighty-mile run in safety he stood a
good chance of winning the prize, for no harder test could have been
devised.

But the race was still far from won. There was a particularly unsafe
stretch of road yet to be covered, and then would come a smooth highway
into Shopton.

"Ten miles more," observed Mr Damon, snapping shut his big gold watch.
"Ten miles more, and it's a quarter of two now. We ought to be there at
a quarter after, and that will be in good time, eh, Tom?"

"I think so, but I don't know about this piece of road we're coming to.
It seems worse than when we passed over it this morning."

As he spoke the auto began to slow up, for the wheels had struck some
heavy sand, and it was necessary to reduce the current. Tom turned back
the controller handle, but watched with eager eyes for a sign that the
roadbed was harder, so that he could increase speed.

As the car turned around a curve, passing through a lonely stretch of
country, with woods on either side of the highway, Tom glancing up,
uttered a cry of astonishment.

"What's the matter; something gone wrong?" asked his companion.

For answer Tom pointed. There, just ahead of them, was a big load of
hay, and it was evident that the driver, was in no particular hurry.

"We can't pass that without getting in over our hubs!" cried Tom. "If
we turn out the side ditches are so soft that we'll need help to pull
out, and the road is so narrow for several miles that we'll have to
trail along behind that fellow."

"Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon. "Are we going to lose, after
all, on account of a load of hay? No, I'll buy it from him first, at
double the market price, tip it over, set fire to it, toss it in the
ditch, and then we can go past!"

"Maybe that will answer," retorted Tom, smiling grimly.

He put on a little more speed, and was soon close up behind the load of
hay, ringing his