Approaching a sharp bend in the road, Templeton gradually throttled down until the speed was reduced to fifteen; and when, as the yacht rounded the bend, the change of course caused the boom to swing over and knock the Irishman’s hat off, the genial stranger shouted with glee and declared that he was having the time of his life, begor. Eves hauled in the mainsheet; the pace again rose to twenty-five; and a marked down-grade enabled Templeton to maintain that speed for a time with the engine switched off. At the end of the dip, where the road bent again, Templeton was faced by the first up-grade—a long straight stretch almost in the teeth of the wind. Some little distance from the foot of the incline he switched on his engine, and took the ascent for the most part on top, dropping to first about two hundred yards from the summit. At this point the passenger, looking back along the road, exclaimed: "There’s a car in the wake of us." "Overhauling us?" asked Eves. "She’s not, then. How would the likes of her?" "She will, though. We shall have to slow down. Look ahead." A heavy farm wagon drawn by three horses had appeared over the crest of the hill, and was lumbering down with skidpans adjusted, and occupying three-fourths of the roadway. "It’s the way we’d see a collision," said the Irishman, chortling. The prospect had evidently no terrors for him. Eves, on the other hand, for all his delight in a rag, felt by no means easy in mind. "Slow down, Bob," he cried, anxiously, at the same time hauling in the sheet until the sail stood almost parallel with the side of the vehicle. Templeton made no reply; but knowing from experience that the road yacht was a likely source of anxiety to horses he slowed down, at the imminent risk of stopping entirely, and steered well into the hedge. The carter hurried to the leader’s head and pulled in to his side of the road, giving only a gaping stare as the yacht grazed the off wheels of his wagon and the hedge on the other side. "As good a bit of steering as ever I saw," cried the Irishman. "Did you get a whiff of the mangolds?" "I was expecting to be mangled," said Eves, grimly. "I say, Bob, the wind’s dead ahead, and the sail’s no bally good." "Lower it, man, lower it," said Templeton. "We’ll be all right at the next turn." The yacht was crawling painfully to the top of the hill when there came from behind the sound of a hooter. Eves and the Irishman looked back. A large car had just rounded the bend below, and was mounting the hill with a great roaring and rattling, distinctly audible above the noise of their own straining engine. "By George, Bob," cried Eves, "that green car that called at the garage is upon our heels." "I hear it," said Templeton. "Couldn’t mistake it: I’ll give it room to pass." Before the yacht had gamed the top of the hill the following car, hooting continuously, closed with it and dashed past. "I say, Bob," shouted Eves, "did you see who was in it?"