Evening star., 1925-11-01


l. pie shadows that curtained {
vast speedway from which SO,
L GOO people were making then
way toward fleets of motor
cars and long lines of suburban trains
High in the covered stands, bant
was playing: "Oh. Gee! If 1t Only
Was Me- And down below, the voice
of bill the Dogman' addressed the
departing spectators of the knicker
booker Cub Race:
We'll, well, folks, don't go way
hungry, Get your official hot dogs
Self-startin' sausages. folks. The
latest models. fully equipped and thor
oughly fabricated. Get your inclosed
Frankfurter Specialists wow A
dime, and you drive it away Who
the next gent"
Into a dressing room under the
stands staggered three men, Bubber
Doyle, pit manager for the Butterfly
team; young Cheever. the mechani
clan. and between them the Black
Ghost-'Wild Tom" Meredith, hero
of the 500-mile classic Just concluded
Meredith's arms We're around the
shoulders of his supporters. Oil and
dust formed a mask out of which
stared eyes that We're flat and lifeleSs
as those of a fish. His long legs drag
ged helplessly.
Doyle Swing him up. Now give me
Your knife-No. no. You can't bend
his arms! Cut his clothes off. Ehsy
Tom. Easy, old champ. Let go OF
everything. It's all over-just let
co.
Silence. save for the ripping of CAB,
ardine cloth. Then the pit-pat of
palms against naked flesh, and the
all-pervading odor of liniment. The
man on the table held forth his right
arm pleadingly. The fingers were
curved stiff1y TO the shape of the driv.
ing wheel.
Doyle and Cheever bent over the
suffering man. rubbing the knotted
muscles. covering the dull eyes with
hot cloths, ma assaging the long limbs,
striving to restore circulation and al
leviate his distress.
Downtown, the sporting extras We're
already on the streets proclaiming in
headlines the triumph of the wild
man of the speedwayS. They carried
pictures of the hero, photos taken be
fore the race, revealing clean-cut,
good-humored features wreathed in
the smile that press photographers in
sist shall be worn by every celebrity
on whom they train a camera.
Lucky dog said the public.
"Twenty thousand for an afternoon 5
work! Guess he earned it, at that,
Sure some drivin' fool! He'll get his
some day; they all do"
Under the vigorous massage Mere
dith gradually relaxed. Back Of the
closed eyes tired mind was trying to
figure how much would be left of the
$4,000 and the lap-priZes after he had
split with his hackers. rewarded his
mechanic and pit crew, paid up his
seasons debts and laid aside neceS-
sary funds for a campaign on the
coast. The problem was too much for
him.
Ten years of life on the speedways
of America had tanned the soul Of
Wild Tom Meredith. In the eyes OF
the public he was still the captivating
figure Of old.
Press agents had woven around him
a thousand Colorful tales and his mis-
sion in life had been to live up TO
what was said of him. No man had
ktriven harder to keep faith with the
public. He was the supreme drawing
card in motor-mad age. a racing
driver whose name was synonymous
with all that was picturesque and ro-
mantle in a game where life is a can
die wavering in the wind.
In reality Wild Tom Meredith was
now a quiet. serious man of So, whose
known to his associates. He was one
of a small fraternity of professional
drivers, numbering but a few dozens
out of population of 120 900 900. who
Travelled over the country in answer
10 the call of a public which demanded
Its thrill-glutted holidays.
The white belt and white shoes that
set off the black costume We're not of
Meredith'S selection. Langheld, who
guided the deStinies of the Butterfly
team, had demanded distinctive attire.
1t was Langfield who had wished upon
him the sobriquet of wild Tom" 1t
was Teddy Langfield who tipped off a
newspaper man to what was supposed
TO be a professional secret among the
drivers. Tom Meredith was particu-
larly wild during the full of the mooni
You don't have to take my word
for It." said Langfield. Ask any of
the boys. He's crazy anyway, but
when the old moon is round as a bal
loon tire none of the mechanics will
ride with him. Go see Hans Wanser
or De Pulva-they carry calendars
with the full moon dates marked in
red ink, and if Meredith's booked to
drive at that time you'll see those
birds go to the pits early in the race
and stay there"
This was one of the few stories that
had any basis other than the magma
ton of a press agent. Most racing
drivers had their pet superstitions,
and sufficient had happened TO war
rant the friendly caution in the dress
ing room: Look ont for Wild Tom
when the moons full"
X !: = x
Nov the strain was telling On the
man who had been public idol
for a decade. The game had made him
its slave. Far from bringing him the in
dependence and quiet harbor of which
he dreamed, each new triumph but
Whetted the public appetite and added
to his obligations. His expenses in
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