"This _is_ Breyting," with an accent on the "is." "What?" almost yelled the driver of the red car. "This _is_ Breyting, I tell you." "How do you spell it?" "B-r-e-y-t-i-n-g, Breyting." "Oh, Lord, we want B-r-i-g-h-t-o-n, Brighton, down by the sea, where all the piers and pebbles are." "Oh, why didn't you say so at first? Take the road to the left down about half a mile. It'll bring you down to the far end of the street that runs along the water." "How far is it?" asked Frank in a despairing voice. "'Bout twelve or thirteen miles." "And fifteen minutes to do it in. This is awful!" "Cheer up, cheer up," said the driver, making a great show of confidence which he didn't in the least feel. "We may do it yet." Opening the throttle the car fairly leaped along the road. "It's exceeding the speed limit, but in a good cause," said the Codfish. "Lord, I hope the tires stand up." He had hardly spoken the word when the right front shoe gave way with a loud bang. The car careened to the right sharply, crossed the shallow ditch with a lurch that nearly threw the boys out of their seats, and, finally, under control again, was steered back on to the road to fetch up with a violent jerk when the emergency brake was driven down hard. CHAPTER XIII. THE FLYING MACHINE TO THE RESCUE. "Well, I'm glad that's over," said the luckless Codfish, as he slipped from behind the steering wheel and hurried out in front to see what damage had been done. "Phew! we're lucky," he continued, "to be alive. If that shoe had gone and busted itself on the bridge half a mile back we would probably have been two bright little angels by now; gone and done for." "By the looks of things, I'm done for anyway," said Frank. "We are lost some miles from Brighton and," looking at his watch, "the train starts in just seven minutes." "Maybe they'll wait for you." "Royal mail trains never wait, and that carries the mail. It's twenty minutes' work to put that shoe on." "Shoe, nothing. I put no shoe on. We'll pick up some wayside garage and till that happens I'll drive on the rim. No damage is done on our flight up the bank. Here we go, halting but steady." Frank was silent. He was thinking of the effect his absence would have on his teammates. It hurt him to think that his captain would set his nonappearance down to carelessness, and so it had been in a way. He should not have gone so far. He should have insisted that Gleason keep away from the steering wheel. Perhaps the need for his presence would be desperate. His absence might mean, in some unaccountable way, the loss of the meet. These thoughts and many others pounded through his brain as the car limped along the road, but they all had the same refrain: "You've been a failure, you've been a failure."