But even as light a car as “The Wreck,” when it has an occupant and has made a fair start downgrade, is not to be stopped in any such manner. Car and shoulder came together with a force that made every bolt and rivet rattle and that hurled Tom a foot away and almost lost him his footing. But he staggered back to the fray, charged again, putting every ounce of strength and weight into the effort, and won a momentary victory. The car didn’t stop, but it did pause for an instant before pushing this strange obstacle before it again, and in that instant it lost some of its headway. And before it could gather speed again Tom had plenty of help. One oversanguine youth seized “The Wreck” by a mudguard and promptly measured his length, the mudguard clattering about him. But others were more practical. Several joined Tom at the front while another leaped to the running board, slid into the car and applied brakes. “The Wreck” protested, bucked and abandoned her contemplated suicide. Gussie, his freckled countenance pale with emotion, swallowed his gum and came very near to strangling during the succeeding confusion. Clif had been too far distant to reach the car in time to be of use, but it was Clif who planted the first stone――no mere inconsiderable pebble this time――under a wheel and then jumped to the running board and anxiously faced a white but smiling Loring. “Are you all right?” demanded Clif anxiously. Loring nodded. He could smile, but he wasn’t ready for conversation yet. He pulled the discarded rug back over his knees first, and by that time Gussie had recovered from his choking and the crowd was clustering thick about the back seat, laughing, though rather nervously, and plying Loring with questions. Tom was conscious of two things just then. One was that his shoulder hurt horribly and the other was that he wanted above all things to beat Gussie to a pulp. He showed a fine determination to perform this feat, using one arm only, when peace-makers interfered and the alarmed Gussie was rescued. One of the fellows who claimed a knowledge of Fords started the car, and, with the others ready to leap upon it and throttle it if it showed a continued tendency to go into the lake, maneuvered it up the declivity and onto level ground. Gussie had forgivingly offered his services, but Tom had refused to trust him. By this time the launch had joined the waiting Wyndham first crew and together they were going down to the starting boats, and the episode of the runaway Ford was forgotten by the throng, now enlarged by the return of many who had followed the first race alongshore. “Guess we’d better go home,” said Tom, scowling blackly at Gussie. “You must be all in, Loring.” “I’m not, really, Tom. And I want to see the other race. But perhaps we’d better go so you can have your arm attended to. It must be awfully bruised up.” “Heck, it doesn’t bother me. What do you say, Clif?”