Part 45

"No. Go slowly and I will show you a short cut."

But Corrie was not in a mood to go slowly, so that they almost missed the driveway that branched from the macadam track to curve around into a park set thickly with fragrant cedars, central in which grove stood the quaintly stiff house of dark brick and stone.

"Run around to the garage," Gerard directed. "Since you will want the car all the time, you might as well keep it here and use the short cut out to the road. I will get out here and go into the house."

Corrie obediently bent to his levers.

"All the time?" he repeated, with an indrawn breath of reluctant ecstasy. "All the time!"

As Gerard turned to the house, a small figure advanced to meet him.

"We've sent out a gang to massage some of the freckles defacing the speedway," Rupert informed him. "Briggs chugged in with a broken spring, Norris side-wiped a fence, and Phillips fell into a hole without publishing a notice, so that his mechanician got off over the bonnet and broke his collar-bone. That ain't testing cars, it's promoting funerals. It's easier to motor into heaven on that road than to drive a camel in New York. What?"

"Yes, have it put in order, of course. I supposed that Mr. Dalton would attend to the matter, since I was out. Rupert, who is the sharpest-tongued, most cross-grained and least ceremonious mechanician we have?"

"I am," was the prompt reply. "Were you wanting me?"

Gerard looked at him and laughed.

"You have ruled yourself off the list of eligibles," he declared. "I want a man to ride with Corrie Rose."

"Oh!" ejaculated Rupert. His malicious, shrewd face gained comprehension. "Oh! Well, I ain't boasting, but I could do that job up pretty fine. Failing me, Devlin is the nastiest thing on the place. You couldn't pat his head without pricking your fingers."

"Very well. Tell him to report to Rose hereafter,--and do not tell him much else. Let all the men know that Rose is training to take my place in the racing work, but do not let them know anything about his millionaire father or his share in the Cup-race affair."

Rupert directed his gaze towards the inert right arm hanging by Gerard's side.

"Your place," he echoed. "Are you giving in without putting up a stiff fight?"

Gerard's chin lifted, his eyes sprang to meet the sharp challenge of the mechanician's.

"No. The fight will soon be on. Are you going to be my second in it?"

"I'm guessing I'll be there when you look for me."

Their eyes dwelt together for a long moment.

"I should like the men to treat Rose as they do each other, so far as possible," Gerard casually resumed his original theme. "It will be good for him. He needs roughing!"

Rupert ran his fingers through his crisp black locks, wheeling to depart.

"He'll slip control and run wild," he predicted, grimly vicious. "He needs the training you're planning for him, all right, but he ain't got the stuff in him to stand it. He'll slip control--here's hoping he smashes himself this time!"

Gerard moved his head in disagreement.

"Wait," he advised. "You once said he could not last out a certain twenty-four-hour race."

"He didn't."

"He finished in third place."

"Because you helped him through, that's why. He didn't have to do it alone."

"He doesn't have to do this alone, either," reminded Gerard.