"Yes," was the laconic answer.

There was no retort to that all-sufficient brevity. None was attempted.

The windows had gradually paled from gray to white, streaks of gold
caught and reflected in the glass panes as the sun drew up above the
horizon. All night the air had been filled with a steady murmur and dull
flow of sound, unobserved because of its very continuity. Now, across
the hush of the sick room unexpectedly crashed a roar of rapid
explosions, growing thunderous as it approached nearer; cheers of joyous
excitement pealed from many throats. Gerard started, his eyes blazing
wide.

"The race," flung the mechanician bitterly. "It's on."

Gerard slowly raised his left arm and dropped it across his face as
those who yesterday were his mates rushed past the house. With the
movement a spot of crimson sprang into view against the linen swathing
his shoulder, enlarging ominously, but even the alarmed Rupert knew
this was no time to summon doctor or nurse, whatever the physical cost.

"Don't you think?" Gerard presently asked, quite gently and naturally,
"that I've got enough to stand, Rupert?"

The sound that broke from the vanquished mechanician was less cry than
curse.

"I'll shut up!" he cast his submission before the victor. "I ain't going
to lie--I'd choke--but I'll hold my tongue. Don't ask more or I'll take
back that. You've got me down; I'll shut up."

VIII

AFTERMATH

The newspapers were mercifully brief upon the subject of the unsupported
accusation brought against Corrie Rose, although diffuse enough in
accounts of the much-known Gerard's disaster. The driver's own
explanation of his accident was accepted; his attitude towards the young
amateur fixed the attitude of the public. Moreover, Jack Rupert was
stricken suddenly dumb; no reportorial blandishments could obtain from
him, on the second day, so much as an admission of the charges made by
him on the day previous. Rupert surrendered like a gentleman: he laid
down all his weapons. Dean's appearance at his usual duties and
explanation of his absence from the pink car quashed the last rumor, for
the finding of a wrench beside a motor course meant nothing, considered
alone.

The first things for which Mr. Rose looked each morning were the daily
papers. After which, he invariably shot a glance of blended relief and
smarting humiliation into the wide, earnest eyes of Flavia, as she sat
opposite him behind the gold coffee-service, and