And it was scarcely more than that when he, clad in the frock suit and carrying the top hat in his hand, advanced toward the auto. “Now--what can I do for you?” inquired he. “Do you know how to fit on a tire?” said the man--he was young, about George’s age--but a person of fashionable dress and manner. “I don’t know a thing about automobiles,” replied Helm. “But I do, Bart,” said one of the women--the one with the sweeter voice. “I can superintend.” “Are we far from the main road?” said Bart to Helm. “About a mile and a half.” “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m Barton Hollister.” The young man spoke the name as if he were certain of its being recognized. “Oh, yes, I know you, Mr. Hollister. We come from the same town--Harrison. I’m George Helm.” “I’ve heard of you,” said young Hollister graciously. “I suppose we’ve never happened to meet because I’m at home so little. You’ve lost your way, too?” “No, I’m making a campaign through the district.” “Oh--yes. You were nominated by the Democrats for--for----” Mr. Hollister hesitated awkwardly. “For Circuit Judge,” Helm supplied. “Against my cousin, Judge Powers. These ladies are my sister Clara and Miss Clearwater.” Helm bowed to the ladies, who smiled graciously at him. He could see their faces now--lovely, delicate faces with the look of the upper class--the sort of women he had seen only at a distance and had met only in novels and memoirs. “The chauffeur was sick and I was ass enough to risk coming without him,” said Hollister. “Nell, you’ll have to tell us what to do.” There followed about the most interesting and exciting hour of George Helm’s life up to that time. Within five minutes Barton Hollister had shown that he was worse than useless for the work in hand, had been swept aside by Helm and Miss Clearwater. He smoked and fussed about and quarreled with his sister, who was in no very good humor with him--“casting us away in the wilderness at three o’clock in the morning.” Helm and the girl who knew toiled at removing the tire and replacing it. She did not know very much; so in the end Helm became boss and, with her assistance, worked out the problem from its foundations. It isn’t easy for an intelligent human being to say so much as three sentences without betraying his intelligence. And in an emergency the evidences of superior mind stand out clearly and brilliantly. Thus it came to pass that in the hour’s work George Helm and Eleanor Clearwater got a respect each for the other’s intelligence. His respect for her was so great that he all but forgot her loveliness and her remote removal from the sphere of his humble, toilsome life. He was tempted to prolong the task, in spite of the irritation of Clara Hollister’s railing, peevish voice. But he resisted the temptation and got his visitors into condition for departure with all the speed he could command.