d frankly and soberly. "Of
course one can't count on that sort of thing. I've got a splendid French
machine here. But Allan Gerard is going to race; I'm afraid of him. Why,
he hasn't even been out to practice! He says he knows the track, they
tell me, and he'll not come down until a couple of hours before the
start. That kind of talk _rattles_ me--I wish he'd act like other people
and not as if he just meant to drop into the motordrome and win another
cup."

"I don't believe Gerard intends to pose as confident," deprecated his
companion. "You see, he has his automobile factory to manage as well as
his racing work; I rather fancy that he didn't come out to practice
because he was busy."

"Oh, I suppose so. It just gets on my nerves; I shouldn't wonder if
they were a bit raw from so much chaffing by the professional pilots.
We're the quickest tempered family that ever happened, anyhow. I'll go
off the handle, I know I will, if those grinning drivers get to gibing
at me to-morrow night----" he broke off, slamming savagely into a lower
gear as he caught a mounted policeman's eye and endeavored to choke his
racing car's speed down to a reasonable approach to the legal limit.

When the desired result was somewhat attained, Gerard spoke with quiet
seriousness.

"I've seen considerable motor racing, and I've been watching you this
afternoon. With some really steady training and practice you could
undoubtedly become one of our few fine drivers. You have the gift."

Rose caught his breath, his blue eyes flashed to meet the other man's
with dazzled and dazzling ardor.

"But--you must not 'go off the handle.' Never. You must keep your nerve
or quit the track."

"It isn't nerve, it's temper," amended Rose honestly.

Gerard's firm lip bent amusedly, his bronze-brown eyes glinted a fun as
purely boyish as could the other's.

"That's quite different," he conceded. "Temper doesn't interfere with
driving; on the contrary, some of the best drivers and most amiable men
I know are very demons when they are racing."

"Gerard isn't. They say he is the quietest ever. Of course he's almost
twenty-eight and used to it all."

The gentleman in question carefully unfastened his glove.

"Gerard seems to worry you," he commented.

"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