-wound arms.

"I've given out," he acknowledged bitterly. "There'll be no finish for
my car. I can't hold my wheel without an hour to rest and get these into
shape. Kid amateur, all right."

"Where's your alternate driver?"

"He slipped on a greasy bit of grass, ten minutes ago, and sprained his
ankle. We're out of it, with third place ours and a perfect car to run."

Gerard looked down the row of illuminated tents to where the pink car
stood, palpitating in an aura of its own light, and brought his eyes
back to the other man.

"My machine went out of the race, two hours ago, with a broken
crankshaft. If you like, I'll be your alternate," he offered.

Incredulous, breathless, Rose stared at him.

"You--you mean----"

"I will drive your car until you are ready to take it again for the
finish. I've nothing else to do, to-night."

It was a time and a scene where over-tense nerves not infrequently
snapped. But if Gerard was not surprised to see it, Rose certainly was
both amazed and humiliated to feel his own eyes suddenly stinging like a
girl's.

"If ever I can do anything for you," he stammered fervently.

"I'll give you the chance," promised Gerard, tactfully gay. "Now hurry
up your men with the car while I find my mechanician."

The comrade aid had been given to Rose, without the least relation to
Rose's sister. But nevertheless Gerard directed a curious look toward
the teeming grand-stand, as he turned to make ready. Was she there, he
wondered, the flower-like girl with the name of a flower, who had rested
in his arms just so long as a blossom might flutter against one in
passing? Would her gaze follow the pink racer, still?

II

CORRIE AND HIS OTHER FELLOW

The touring car rolled slowly through the October leaves rustling and
swirling down the road in jovial wind-eddies, came up to a knoll beside
the field, and stopped. The driver turned in his seat to face the two
occupants of the tonneau, pushing his goggles up above the line of his
fair hair.

"Look," he urged eagerly. "Look at the pitcher of our home team. There,
just crossing the diamond--it's a new inning."

"It's not the first baseball game you've brought us out to see, Corrie,"
observed Mr. Thomas Rose, setting his own goggles on his cap above the
line of his reddish-gray hair. "Is it, my girl?"

His daughter laughed, shaking her small head in its crimson hood and
glancing roguishly at her brother.

"Nor the twenty-first, papa,