"You have a good driver, McCarthy," said the manager, who alone knew the object of the trip. "She handles that car better than I do. I have given her permission to tear it to pieces to get you through." The start was undramatic. The car rolled easily along to the drive and presently was lifting and dropping over the hills of the splendid speedway. A gentle breeze from the river fanned them as they rushed through it. In five minutes they were clear of the congested traffic on the bridge and the car, gathering speed, rushed into the hills on the opposite side of the river. Five minutes later the car was quivering with its increasing speed and McCarthy, looking at the gauge, saw that it registered forty-seven miles, and was still sliding forward. Fourteen miles across the rolling plateau the car raced with sustained speed, the engine humming in perfect tune and only the heavier vibration of the tires attesting the speed. At slower pace the car climbed among the ridge of hills that had been rising ahead, and after five miles of rougher going it turned into the old stage road. "It's five minutes past nine," said the girl, "and we've done more than forty miles already. The next forty is good and we'll try to gain time." "We ought to make it easily," he responded brightly. "You're a heroine." "I do not know what the roads are beyond Hedgeport," she interrupted anxiously. "It is hill country. It rained two days ago." She had steadily increased the speed again until the indicator kept constantly around the forty-five mile mark. The speed was terrific and made conversation almost impossible. "Hadn't you better rest? You must be tired," he screamed above the noise of the car. "Arms are cramped," she replied, without lifting her eyes from the road ahead. "We'll take gas at Hedgeport and walk around. We will lunch somewhere near Hilton. We'll be over the worst of the road then." "I wish I could help you," called McCarthy, after a long silence. She shook her head, and, after the car had throbbed up the next incline and was sailing, hawklike, down the opposite side, she said: "You'll need your strength for the game. There's Hedgeport now." Before them, set on the hillside, lay the little city. It seemed as if the houses grew by magic as they rushed upon it. They flashed past a few market wagons, passed another auto chugging along busily, and slackened the pace as the car rolled upon the brick pavements and toward the heart of the city. "A hundred and thirty-one miles in a little over three hours," said McCarthy, elated. "That leaves us one hundred and four miles and more than four hours to make it in. We've won." "The road has been perfect," Betty Tabor said. "For the next fifty miles it is marked bad." She turned quietly to ask questions of the mechanician, who was overhauling and examining every part of the machine, and examining the feed pipes. Another man was filling the tanks and using oil plentifully.