Eleanor M. Ingram

“ Why do you not get better men, Bailey? You wanted to go into this racing business; you said the cars needed advertising. My brother always attended to that [21] side of the factory affairs, while he lived, with you as his manager. Now it is altogether in your hands. Why do you not find a proper driver?"
"Perhaps my hands are not used to holding so much," mused Bailey unresentfully. "A man might be a good manager, maybe, and weak as a partner. It isn't the same job. But a first-class driver isn't easy to get, Mr. Ffrench. ”

“ Bailey insisted.
"Not our cars, no. But the steering-knuckle of my own machine broke under my hands last March, on the road, and if I had been on a curve instead of a straight stretch there would have been a wreck. As it was, I brought her to a stop in the ditch. There is no other thing that may not leave a fighting chance after it breaks, but this leaves absolutely none. I know, you both know, that the steering-wheel is the only weapon in the driver's grasp. If it fails him, he goes out and his mechanician with him." ”

“ And we will not speak in passion; there can be no substitute for you."
"Ffrench and Ffrench," murmured Dick coaxingly. "We can run that factory, Lestrange!"
"There's more than steering-knuckles needing your eye on them. And you love the place, Mr. David," said Bailey from his corner. [193]
From one to the other David's glance went, to rest on Emily's delicate, earnest face in its setting of yellow-bronze curls. Full and straight her dark eyes answered his, the convent-bred Emily's answer to his pride and old resentment and new reluctance to yield his liberty. ”

“ Lestrange bared his hand to return the clasp, his warm smile flashing to his cousin; then the swirl of preparation swept between them and Dick next saw him as a part of one of the throbbing, flaming row of machines before the judges' stand.
It was not a tranquilizing experience for an amateur to witness the start, when the fourteen powerful cars sprang simul [156] taneously for the first curve, struggling for possession of the narrow track in a wheel to wheel contest where one mistouch meant the wreck of many. ”

“ The swift change in his tone, the ease of deference with which he bared his head and, motor caps not being readily donned or doffed, so remained bareheaded in the bright sunlight, savored of the Continent.
"It is too commonplace to say good morning," Emily replied, her color rising with her smile. "I am very glad you [66] escaped. But that is commonplace, too, I'm afraid."
"Every one is commonplace before breakfast," reassured her cousin. "Honestly, Lestrange, do you practise racing here?"
"Hardly. I'm trying out the car; every car has to go through that before it is used. ”

“ Most of us die before we finish it."
Emily paused, contending with the loneliness and doubts which impelled her to speech, the feminine yearning to let another decide her problems. This other's nonchalant strength of decision allured her uncertainty.
"I am discouraged," she confessed. "And tired. I—there is no reason why I should not speak of it. You know Dick, how he can do nothing in the factory or business, or in the places where a Ffrench should stand. All this must fall into the hands of strangers, to be broken and forgotten, when my uncle dies, for lack of some one who would care. ”

“ It was not many times that the cars could circle the track. Quarter of six [153] blew from whistles and klaxons, signal flags sent the cars to their camps for the last time before the race.
"Come here," Lestrange beckoned to Dick, as he brought his machine shuddering to a standstill before the tent. "Here, close—we've got a moment while they fill tanks."
He unhooked his goggles and leaned over as Dick came beside the wheel, the face so revealed bright and quiet in the sunset glow of color.
"One never knows what may happen," he said. ”

“ Emily offered impulsively. "You," her dimpling smile gleamed out, "you once put a tire on for me, you know. Please let me return the service."
Rupert's black eyes opened, a slow grin of appreciation crinkled streaks of dust and oil as he surveyed the young girl.
"I'll put tires on every wheel you run into control, day and night shifts," he acknowledged with sweet cordiality. "But I'm no horse-chauffeur, thanks; I guess I'll walk."
"He is a gentle pony," she remonstrated. "Any one can drive him." ”

“ Lestrange said quietly, and kissed her for farewell.
The earth danced under Emily's feet as she ran across the lawns, the sun glowed warm, the brook tinkled over the cascades in a very madness of mirth. At the head of the veranda steps she turned to look once more at the roof of the white pavilion among the locust trees.
"Uncle will like you when he knows you," she laughed in her heart. "Any one must like you." [132]
The servant she met in the hall said that Mr. Bailey had gone out, and Mr. Ffrench also, but separately, the former having taken the short route across toward the factory. ”

“ If he does, he ought to like what Lestrange is doing for it. What's the matter with him?"
Emily shook back her yellow curls, turning her gaze on him.
"You might guess, Dickie. He is lonely." [58]
"Lonely! He!"
All the feminine impulse to defend flared up.
"Why not?" she exclaimed with passion. "Who has he got? Who stands with him in his house? No wonder he can not bear the man who is hired to do what a Ffrench should be doing. It is not the racing driver he dislikes, but the manager. And do not you blame him, Dick Ffrench." ”

“ The men watched and listened intently; they themselves no common laborers, but the intelligent workmen who were to carry out the ideas here set forth. Wherever Lestrange had been, he was coatless and the sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled back, leaving bare the arms whose smooth symmetry revealed little of the racing driver's strength ”

“ A racing machine [14] is petted like a race-horse until it is wanted."
"And then?"
"It takes its chances. If you are connected with the Ffrenches who manufacture the Mercury car, you should know something of automobile racing yourself. I noticed your limousine was of that make."
"Yes, that is my uncle's company. I did see a race once at Coney Island. A car turned over and killed its driver and made a nasty muss. I—I didn't fancy it."
A wheel slipped off a stone, giving the car a swerving lurch which was as instantly corrected—with a second lurch—by its pilot. ”

“ Ffrench stated, with his most precise coldness. "Being well-born and well-bred, he has no taste for a mechanic's labor or for circus performances with automobiles in public. Who is your man, Bailey?"
"Lestrange, sir. You must have heard of him often."
"I never read racing news."
"I read ours," said Bailey darkly. "We've been licked often enough by him. And he's straight—he's one of the few men who'll stop at the grand-stand and lose time reporting a smash-up and sending help around. Every man on the track likes Darling Lestrange." ”

“ Bailey, and tell me that. A broken steering-knuckle killed Brook in Indiana, another sent Little to the hospital in Massachusetts, the same thing wrecked the leader at the last Beach race and dashed him through the fence. Do you know what it means to the driver of a machine hurling itself along the narrow verge of destruction, when the steering-wheel suddenly turns useless in his grasp? Can you feel the sick helplessness, the confronting of death, the compressed second before the crash? Is it worth while to risk it for a bit of costless steel? ”

“ Men who could take charge of a business, the manufacturing and racing and selling, like my uncles? I have a reason for asking." [34]
"Sure thing," said Bailey, unexpectedly prompt. "I've met one man who knows how to handle this factory better than I do, and I've been at it twelve years. And there he is—" he turned in his revolving chair and rolled up the shade covering the glass-set door into the next room, "my manager, Lestrange."
The scene thus suddenly opened to the startled Emily was sufficiently matter-of-fact, yet not lacking in a certain sober animation of its own. ”

“ Machines darted in and out from their [158] camps at intervals, each waking a frenzy of excitement among its men. At ten o'clock the Mercury car came in again, this time limping with a flat tire, to be fallen on by its mechanics.
"We're leading, but we'll lose by this," said Lestrange, slipping out to relax and meditatively contemplating the alternate driver, who was standing across the camp. "Ffrench, at twelve I'll have to come in to rest some, and turn my machine over to the other man. ”

“ But Ethan Ffrench said nothing, his gray eyes fixed on the hearth.
"He understands motor construction and designing, and he's been with big foreign firms," Bailey resumed, after wait [23] ing. "He'd be useful around; I can't be everywhere. What he'd do for us in racing would help a whole lot. It's very well to make a fine standard car, but it needs advertising to keep people remembering. And men like to say 'my machine is the same as Lestrange won the Cup race with.' They like it." ”

“ You know what my new manager's been doing; why, you disliked him without seeing him, but you had to admit his good work. And I heard you talking about his allowance, Mr. Ffrench. He never touched it, not from the first; it piled up for six years. Last April, when we needed cash in a hurry, he drew it out and gave it to me to buy aluminum. When he left here first he drove a taxicab in New York City until he got into racing work and made Darling Lestrange famous all over the continent. ”

“ At least Rupert and I play our game unhampered; there will be no broken hearts if we are picked up from under our car some day."
They had reached the door while he spoke; as he put his hand on the knob to open it, Emily saw a long zigzag scar running up the extended arm from wrist to elbow, a mute commentary on the conversation. In silence she passed out across the courtyard to where her red-wheeled cart waited. But when Lestrange had put her in and given her the reins, she held out her hand to him with more gravity. ”

“ Ffrench looked at her, his face setting.
"You forget your dignity," he retorted in displeasure. "This is mere childishness, Emily. Men will be consulted more competent to decide than this Lestrange. That will do."
From one to the other she gazed, then turned away.
"I will wait out in the cart," she said. "I—I would rather be outdoors." [96]
Dick Ffrench was up-stairs, standing with Lestrange in one of the narrow aisles between lines of grimly efficient machines that bit or cut their way through the steel and aluminum fed to them, when Rupert came to him with a folded visiting card. ”

“ Bailey hunched himself together and crossed his legs.
"Yes, sir. He's beaten our cars—and others—every race lately, with poorer machines, just by sheer pretty driving. He [22] drives fast, yet he don't knock out his car. But there's a lot after him—there's just one way we could get him, and get him for keeps."
"And that?"
"He's ambitious; he wants to get into something more solid than racing. If we offered to make him manager, he'd come and put some new ideas, maybe, into the factory, and race our cars wherever we chose to enter them. ”

“ I have tried three times to rear one of my name to fitness to bear it, and each one has failed [29] except you. I wish you were a man, Emily; there is work for a Ffrench to do."
"When you say that, I wish I were. But—I'm not, I'm not." She flung out her slender, round arms in a gesture of helpless resignation. "I'm not even a strong-minded woman who might do instead. Uncle Ethan, may I ask—it was Mr. Bailey who made me think—my cousin whom I never saw, will he never come home?" ”

“ A dozen other men take the same chance as Rupert and I; the driver who alternates with me, for instance. This is our life."
"Your arm—"
"Is well enough." He laughed a little. [114] "You will see many a bandaged arm before the twenty-four hours are up; few of us finish without a scratch or strain or blister. This is a man's game, but it's not half so destructive as foot-ball. You wished me good luck for the Georgia race; will you repeat the honor before I go back to Ffrench?" ”

“ There is no elation in defeating a driver who lies out on the course. But, as you say, it helped my purpose. You," he hesitated for the right phrase, "you are most kind to recall that I have a purpose."
It was the convent-bred Emily who looked back at him, earnest-eyed, exaltedly serious.
"I have thought of it often. Every one else that I know just lives the way things happen—there are only a few peo [72] ple who grasp things and make them happen. That is real work; so many of us are just given work we do not want—" she broke off. ”