tand more if he knows he is right inside than if, if he could not think
that?"

"Corrie, yes, I do believe it. But there are few stainless Galahads.
Strength and rightness do not depend on the past, but the present. The
finest strength I have seen, has been in men who, who----"

The intended conclusion died on his lips, before he found words to
soften its intrinsically harsh implication. Corrie had turned to him a
glance so clear, a face so startling in its white resolution and dignity
of fearless candor, that Gerard drew back with a sensation of rebuked
presumptuousness. What he had offered as a consolation suddenly loomed
as an insult.

"Thank you," said Corrie, quite simply. "You're awfully good to me,
Gerard. I don't know why I said all that--I, I guess something slipped.
Good night; Fred and I will get some sleep. It's a short night,
anyhow."

XVI

THE WHITE ROAD OF HONOR

The ruddy dawn that flushed along the edge of the east illuminated a
vast, waiting multitude. For its twelve miles of twisted length, the
narrow ribbon of the Cup course was walled in on either side by the
massed people and uncounted hundreds of automobiles. The neighboring
States, the great cities of New York and Jersey, the countrysides far
and near had emptied their motor-car enthusiasts and sport lovers into
this strip of Long Island, for to-day. Laughing, eating picnic
breakfasts, laying wagers and preparing score-cards, the crowd swayed
tiptoe on the keen edge of expectancy; while up and down the course
drove and pushed the hurrying hundreds who had not yet found
satisfactory place.

As the dawn brightened into full, golden October day, the crush became
greater, the haste and anticipation more intense. When a spluttering
roar announced one of the arriving racers, the press would open,
cheering, to leave his car passage and close in behind him with
boisterous comment and criticism.

"That was the six Atlanta, Louis driving, wasn't it, Dick?"

"Rub your eyes, you're asleep yet--that was the Mercury, Rose up. Can't
you tell a peach from a lemon? Quit shoving, there!"

"Bet you ten a foreign car wins."

"Take you. It'll be the Bluette or the Mercury. Get back, here comes
another. They start in twenty minutes."

Opposite the grand-stand the excitement was greatest, but most orderly.
Around the row of repair pits men ran in and out, hovering about their
cars with solicitous final attentions and eager encouragement to the