Part 4

"He does. I don't know just why, but he does."

"Well, don't let him. This is where you leave your machine?"

"Yes. I can't offer to take you wherever you are going, because I couldn't get back alone. I'm awfully obliged to you for coming in with me."

"Thanks for the ride." Gerard stepped out and offered his hand with a glance deliberately friendly. "Good-by; good luck for to-morrow and next day."

Rose dragged off his gauntlet and eagerly bent to give the clasp.

"Wait--you're not going like that?" he protested. "I'd like to see you again. You haven't told me your name."

"We will see each other again. That's a safe prediction, I assure you." He withdrew his hand, laughing a denial of explanation as he retreated. "I will tell you my name next time, if you ask me."

Already half a dozen people had collected around the pink racing car. Others were flocking from every direction, the group forming with a suddenness truly New Yorkese. Indifferent to all, Rose sprang out of his seat and ran through the curious men in pursuit of his late companion.

"Wait," he urged, overtaking him. "I want to ask--did you mean that? About my driving well, some day? I know I'll never get a chance to do it, but do you mean that I could?"

"I meant," confirmed Gerard, "just what I said. I usually do. Good-by."

The boy remained perfectly still in the midst of the crowd, standing in his rose-colored costume and looking after the straight, slender figure swinging down the street. When Gerard glanced back in turning the corner, Rose was still watching him.

* * * * *

It was some forty-five hours later that Gerard's prediction was verified, in the glare-streaked darkness of the Beach racetrack amid the medley of sounds from excited crowds, roaring cars, and noisily busy training camps. Under the swinging electric light before the hospital tent, the two drivers came face to face.

"Nothing wrong, I hope?" Gerard greeted, keen eyes sweeping the other.

A sparkle of animation lit Rose's exhaustion-drawn face to boyishness.

"I'm not hurt. I want to tell you that if I'd known who you were, yesterday, I'd never have asked you to ride with me," he answered, warmly impulsive.

"You'd have let me walk?"

"I'd have got into the mechanician's seat and let you drive. Do you suppose I'd have kept the wheel with you in the car? But what you said about my driving made it so no one could rattle me, Mr. Gerard; I am not going out of the race because of that, anyhow."

"Going out of the race? Why, you're running in third place!"

Rose shook his head, his mouth set, holding out two blistered hands and linen-wound arms.

"I've given out," he acknowledged bitterly. "There'll be no finish for my car. I can't hold my wheel without an hour to rest and get these into shape. Kid amateur, all right."

"Where's your alternate driver?"

"He slipped on a greasy bit of grass, ten minutes ago, and sprained his ankle. We're out of it, with third place ours and a perfect car to run."

Gerard looked down the row of illuminated tents to where the pink car stood, palpitating in an aura of its own light, and brought his eyes back to the other man.

"My machine went out of the race, two hours ago, with a broken crankshaft. If you like, I'll be your alternate," he offered.

Incredulous, breathless, Rose stared at him.

"You--you mean----"

"I will drive your car until you are ready to take it again for the finish. I've nothing else to do, to-night."