found no comment. Emily gazed
at the table, her red mouth curving in spite of all effort at
seriousness.

"You're right, Mr. Dick," said Bailey dryly. "Stick to it."

And Dick stuck, without as much as a single lapse. Ffrenchwood saw
comparatively little of him, as time went on, the village and factory
much. He lost some weight, and acquired a coat of reddish tan.

Emily watched and admired in silence. She had not seen Lestrange
again, but it seemed to her that his influence overlay all the life of
both house and factory. Sometimes this showed so plainly that she
believed Mr. Ffrench must see, must feel the silent force at work. But
either he did not see or chose to ignore. And Dick was incautious.

"I'm going to buy one of our roadsters myself," he stated one day.
"Can I have it at cost?"

Mr. Ffrench felt for his pince-nez.

"You? Why do you not use the limousine?"

"Because I don't want to go around in a box driven by a chauffeur. I
want a classy car to run myself. I've been driving some of the
stripped cars, lately, and I like it."

"I will give you a car, if you want one," answered his uncle, quite
kindly. "Go select any you prefer."

"Thank you," Dick sat up, beaming. "But I'll have to wait my turn,
we've orders ahead now. Lestrange says I've no right to come in and
make some other fellow wait."

Mr. Ffrench slowly stiffened.

"We do not require lessons in ethics from this Lestrange," was the
cold rebuke. "I shall telephone Bailey to send up your car at once."

Rupert brought the sixty-horse-power roadster to the door, three hours
later. And Emily appreciated that Lestrange was discreet as well as
compelling, when she found the black-eyed young mechanician was
detailed to accompany Dick's maiden trips; which duty was fulfilled,
incidentally, with the fine tact of a Richelieu.

In May there was a still greater accession of work at the factory. In
addition, the first of June was to open with a twenty-four hour race
at the Beach track, and Lestrange was entered for it. Excitement was
in the air; Dick came in the house only to eat and sleep.

The day before the race, Mr. Ffrench walked into the room where his
niece was reading.

"I want to see Bailey," he said briefly. "Do you wish to drive me down
to the factory, or shall I have Anderson bring around the limousine?"

"Please let us drive," she exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "I have
not been to the factory for months."

"Very good. You are loo