Alma record. (Alma, Mich.) 1878-1928, 1912-03-07
CHAPTER VIII.

Six o'clock was the hour set for the
start of the Beach race. And it was
just seventeen minutes past five
when Dick French, hanging in a
frenzy Of anxiety over the paddock
fence circling the inside of the mile
oval, uttered something resembling
howl and rushed to the gate to signal
his recreant driver. From the oppo-
site side of the track Lestrange waved
gay return, making his way through
the officials and friends who pressed
around him to shake hands or slap
his shoulder caressingly, testing and
questioning. calling directions and ad-
vice. A brass band played noisily in
the grand-stand, where the crowd
heaved and surged; the racing ma
chimes were roaring in their camps.
What's the matter? Where were
you?" cried Dick when at last Le-
strange crossed the course TO the CEN
trail field. THE cars are going out
now for the preliminary run. Rupert's
nearly crazy. snarling at everybody,
and the other man has been getting
ready to start instead Of YOU"
We'll, he can get unready," smiled
Lestrange. Keep cool, French; I've
got half an hour and could start
now. I'm ready"
He was ready; clad in the close-fit-
ting khaki costume whose immaculate
daintiness gave no hint Of the GER
tainty that before the first six hours
ended 1t would be wreck OF yellow
dust and oil. AS he paused In run
ming an appraising glance down the
street.-The row Of tents, the white
clothed driver Of spotless white car
shot out on his way to the track. but
halted opposite the latest arrival to
stretch a cordial hand.
Il hoped a trolley car had bitten
you." he shouted. THE rest of us
would have more show If you got lost
on the way, Darling"
The boyish driver at the next tent
looked up as they passed, and came
grinning over to give his clasp.
Get a move on; what you been do
In all day, dear child? They've been
givin' your manager sal volatile to
hold him still" He nodded at the agi-
tated Dick in ironic commiseration.
Go get out your car, Darling, l
want to beat YOU" chaffed the next in
line
Strike up the band, here comes a
driver, sang another, with an en-
trancing French accent
auubiuU ratDrfivU Je
with each comrade rival, Lestrange
went down the row to his own tent.
AT his approach a swarm of mechanics
from the factory stood back from the
long, low, gray car, the driver who
was to relieve him during the night
and day ordeal slipped down from the
seat and unmasked
He's here" announced Dick super
fluously. "Rupert-where's Rupert?
Don't tell me he's gone now Le-
strange"
But Rupert was already emerging
from the tent with Lestrange's gaunt-
lets and cap, his expression a study
in the sardonic
1T hurts me fierce to think how you
must have hurried" he observed.
Did you walk both ways, or only all
three? I'm no Eve, but I'd give
snake an apple to know where you've
been all day"
Would your queried Lestrange
provokingly, clasping the goggles be-
fore his eyes. We'll, I've spent the
last two hours on the Coney Island
beach, about three squares from here,
watching the Riddles play in the sand
l didn't feel like driving just then. 1t
was mighty soothing, too"
Rupert stared at him, a dry I'M
willing smile slowly crinkling his dark
face.
Maybe, Darling" he drawled, and
turned to make his own preparations.
Fascinated and useless, Dick looked
on at the methodical furry of the next
few moments; until Lestrange was in
his seat and Rupert swung in beside
him. Then a gesture summoned him
to the side of the machine.
I'll run in again before we race,
Of course" said Lestrange to him,
above the deafening noise of the mo-
tor. BE around here; want to see
you"
Rupert leaned out, all good-humor
once more as he pointed to the ma
chine