sly.

"I know, I know," she responded quickly. "The boy who had the tickets
told me. There is no time to lose. I have a plan."

"A special train?" he asked. "I have no money."

"The auto," she replied quickly. "I will drive it. I've driven it
hundreds of miles"----

"Betty," he expostulated, using her name unconsciously. "You
cannot--maybe we can find a driver."

"I can and I will," she said decisively; "it is only 235 miles. We
have eight hours. We can make it. The car is fast and easy to handle."

Still arguing, she led him back to the car, and they rode quickly back
to the hotel over part of the route they had traversed during their
wild flight. They breakfasted while the car was being prepared for the
run, studying road maps while they ate.

"Betty, how can I ever thank you," he said, leaning forward over the
table.

"By calling me Miss Tabor and winning the game to-day," she said,
coolly, without looking up from the maps.

"The car is ready," the head waiter announced. "A good trip to you,
Miss Tabor."

"You have a good driver, McCarthy," said the manager, who alone knew
the object of the trip. "She handles that car better than I do. I
have given her permission to tear it to pieces to get you through."

The start was undramatic. The car rolled easily along to the drive and
presently was lifting and dropping over the hills of the splendid
speedway. A gentle breeze from the river fanned them as they rushed
through it.

In five minutes they were clear of the congested traffic on the bridge
and the car, gathering speed, rushed into the hills on the opposite
side of the river. Five minutes later the car was quivering with its
increasing speed and McCarthy, looking at the gauge, saw that it
registered forty-seven miles, and was still sliding forward. Fourteen
miles across the rolling plateau the car raced with sustained speed,
the engine humming in perfect tune and only the heavier vibration of
the tires attesting the speed. At slower pace the car climbed among
the ridge of hills that had been rising ahead, and after five miles of
rougher going it turned into the old stage road.

"It's five minutes past nine," said the girl, "and we've done more than
forty miles already. The next forty is good and we'll try to gain
time."

"We ought to make it easily," he responded brightly. "You're a
heroine."

"I do not know what the roads are beyond Hedgeport," she interrupted
anxiously. "It