acrifice.
He had not earned the money, Jimmie argued; he had only avoided paying
it to the railroad. If he did not walk he would be obtaining the
gratitude of Sadie by a falsehood. Therefore, he must walk.

"Not at all," protested the young man. "You've got it wrong. What
good will it do your sister to have you sunstruck? I think you are
sunstruck. You're crazy with the heat. You get in here, and we'll
talk it over as we go along."

Hastily Jimmie backed away. "I'd rather walk," he said.

The young man shifted his legs irritably.

"Then how'll this suit you?" he called. "We'll declare that first 'one
good turn' a failure and start afresh. Do me a good turn."

Jimmie halted in his tracks and looked back suspiciously.

"I'm going to Hunter's Island Inn," called the young man, "and I've
lost my way. You get in here and guide me. That'll be doing me a good
turn."

On either side of the road, blotting out the landscape, giant hands
picked out in electric-light bulbs pointed the way to Hunter's Island
Inn. Jimmie grinned and nodded toward them.

"Much obliged," he called. "I got ter walk." Turning his back upon
temptation, he waddled forward into the flickering heat waves.

The young man did not attempt to pursue. At the side of the road,
under the shade of a giant elm, he had brought the car to a halt and
with his arms crossed upon the wheel sat motionless, following with
frowning eyes the retreating figure of Jimmie. But the narrow-chested
and knock-kneed boy staggering over the sun-baked asphalt no longer
concerned him. It was not Jimmie, but the code preached by Jimmie, and
not only preached but before his eyes put into practice, that
interested him. The young man with white hair had been running away
from temptation. At forty miles an hour he had been running away from
the temptation to do a fellow mortal "a good turn." That morning, to
the appeal of a drowning Caesar to "Help me, Cassius, or I sink," he
had answered: "Sink!" That answer he had no wish to reconsider. That
he might not reconsider he had sought to escape. It was his experience
that a sixty-horse-power racing-machine is a jealous mistress. For
retrospective, sentimental, or philanthropic thoughts she grants no
leave of absence. But he had not escaped. Jimmie had halted him,
tripped him by the heels, and set him again to thinking. Within the
half-hour that followed those who rolled past saw at the side of the
road a car wi