The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1913-06-27
CHAPTER x-(Continued).

"Jes and do not tire of our
friends" she rebuked. But beyond
that, how can any one tell what will
happen? We can just live our best
every day and wait to see further
Sometimes things get twisted wrong.
What is the matter? What is twist
ed wrong, Miss Floyd?"
She shook her head. smiling across
her shoulders at him.
Nothing-nothing but me. Only
feel disgustingly gloomy tonight; as II
Jes and I were very far apart. Never
mind, I wish you all good luck and
victory for the race"
What was that song you were sing
ing on the first day came here!" he
asked irrelevantly.
She hesitated, then struck a few
chords upon the piano. "That?"
"Yes. Will you sing it to me.
now?"
With her charming trick of prompt
obedience, she at once seated herself
at the instrument
1t was no ornate classic, no love-
song, that the velvet-and-gold contral-
to voice braided into Stanton's mem
ory, to be in the near future torture
more acute than physical pain and per-
sonal grief.
loft, in the Silly night
Ere slumber's chain hath bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
OF other days around me-"
That was the quaint stiff melody OF
fifty years before, that Jessfca Floyd
sung to Stanton before they parted.
On reaching home, an hour later.
Stanton found letter awaiting him
from the assistant manager. Green. 1t
was dated from Long Island, and re-
minded him that the course would be
open for the last days practice next
morning during the early hours.
"The car is at last ready, and If
you see Jes Floyd. tell him that we
can not get along without him any
longer" ran the concluding sentence.
Stanton put down the letter, frown-
ing at it in irritated astonishment.
Had not Floyd gone to prepare for the
race, with Green and by his direct or
der? How then could he, Stanton.
know anything about his mechanician
and why did not Green know every
thing? Possibly Floyd had been kept
at the Mercury factory; but in that
case Green would surely have sent
there for him, instead of trusting to
the faint chance of Stanton's encoun-
tering him. OF course Floyd must be
ready to go out for the delayed prac-
tice work next morning Stanton rose
impatiently; of course he would be
ready
him when halfway across the room. a
wild fancy. Could it be conceived
credible that Valerie Carlisle did wish
to prevent the Mercury car from rae
ing, and, falling to reach the driver,
might attempt to keep away the mech
anician she knew to be so valuable? {?
He recalled his own strange illness on
the eve of the Massachusetts race.
On an impulse beyond restrain, he
turned to his telephone; there would
be some one to tell him of Floyd at
the factory. for it was working night
and day to fill its orders.
Yes, 337 Frenchwood," the thin
voice finally came along the wire.
"Yes, Mercury. Mr.. Stanton? Wait"
The instrument roared vilely; he
knew it was the din of the huge en-
gines he heard across thirty miles of
distance.
Hello" another voice took up,
through the drone. stanton? This
is Mr.. Bailey What? Oh. why Floyd's
gone on" there was blank clicking
to Long Island tonight" was faint.
lv resumed. He'll be on his job when
you need him. Stanton; go bit easy
on the poor kid. He isn't a machine .
Stanton exclaimed something ugly
and hung up the receiver with snap
Bailey was fool. he mentally sneered
and Green was another, and he him
self the third. AS for Miss Carlisle
he had not seen or heard of her since
the trip to Indiana. No moe orchids
and laurel He smiled in sardonic re
lief and went to open a window to
the pungent October air. Tomorrow
he would see Floyd at the course and
begin the work which intoxicated him
as it does all those who once acquire
the fearless mastery of a car at high
speeds and taste the strong excite
ment of the racing game. He drew q
breath of anticipated exhilaration; !;
this was the ground where he and
Floyd stood closest in understanding
and where Jessica could never come.
But he wished that she had not
looked so strangely grave and wistful,
that evening, 1t troubled him.
CHAPTER XII.
The Last Race.