n he
passed for the sixth time, with Rupert stretched along the edge of the
car to relieve his cramped limbs in an ease that suggested imminent
death by falling.

The seventh time the Mercury did not come around. Gerard, who had been
in front, returned to Flavia with his steadying reassurance.

"Tire trouble, no doubt," he told her. "He is due to have some; his luck
has been astonishing in escaping it so far. He is driving to win; no car
ever held the lead from start to finish."

Flavia folded her hands in her lap, not trusting herself far enough to
reply. Gerard studied his watch in silent calculation, as the minutes
ticked past.

"It must have been two tires," he at last hazarded. "When one blows out
while actually on a turn, the other is almost certain to follow. Of
course, they might have engine trouble."

A French car rolled up to its repair pit, stopped, and suddenly burst
into flames. There was a wild scramble among its force of attendants, a
rush with fire extinguishers and pails of sand. Before the danger was
realized, it had ended and the mechanics were at work upon the choked
pipe which had sent the car to its camp.

"Oh!" gasped the young girl, rising.

Gerard stopped her, pointing to the white hill. The roar of an
approaching car filled the air; as Flavia looked, the Mercury shot past,
running faultlessly, but carrying two spare tires where she had started
with four.

"They will be in, next lap," Gerard predicted. "Rupert won't want to run
with only two extra tires on board, and I don't think Corrie will
overrule him."

He went forward to give some directions to prepare for the flying visit,
Flavia watching. She made no demand for attention, no betrayal of
feminine timidity to hamper this man's world into which she had been
brought. Men looked curiously at the delicate, serious girl who sat so
quietly in the Mercury camp, but gradually the information crept out
that she was Rose's sister and Gerard's fiancee, so that wonder became
merely admiration.

True to expectation, the Mercury halted before her repair pit, on the
next circuit.

"Cases," commanded Rupert, tersely, out of his seat before the stop.
"Move quick! Who's nailed fast now?"

The slur was undeserved; the waiting tires were flung on and secured by
hurrying hands.

"Drink it," Gerard ordered, thrusting a cup at Corrie, as that young
driver leaned wearily back. "I don't care whether you want it or not."

"It's the people," Corr