"We'll try." Her face was set and white. She whirled the corner of the avenue onto the side street at full speed. A block and a half away was the station. The car was at racing speed now. The girl kept the siren screaming, hoping for a clear way. They tore toward the intersection of the streets--and directly ahead a lumbering team of horses, drawing a heavy wagon, trundled across their path. With a sudden swerve, a grinding of the emergency and a sickening lurch, the car checked its mad flight, scraped past the rear of the wagon, and gathering speed renewed the race against time. "Goodbye," he said, leaning suddenly inward as the car commenced to lose momentum. "When I come back"---- "Hurry, hurry," she pleaded. "Run"---- He leaped before the car stopped and, with one glance back toward her, sprinted down the long passageway. The gate was closing. He cried aloud, and ran faster. The gate clanged. A boy in uniform ran to him and shoved tickets into his hands as they ran side by side. "Open it! Let me through!" he screamed at the gateman, just starting to lock the gate. McCarthy was sprinting desperately in pursuit of the train already half way down the long train shed. He ran until his heart pounded audibly against his ribs, straining every muscle, and crying for the train to stop. Faster and faster it went, and, near the end of the station, McCarthy realized he had lost the race and, stopping, he stood dejectedly looking after the rapidly disappearing observation car. The gateman let him out with a sympathetic word, but he did not raise his head. He knew that, 235 miles away, twenty men were hoping for his arrival. He would hire a special train. He whirled at the thought--and then remembered he was without money. He felt a hand touch his arm and, turning quickly, he saw Betty Tabor. "I missed it," he said, hopelessly. "I know, I know," she responded quickly. "The boy who had the tickets told me. There is no time to lose. I have a plan." "A special train?" he asked. "I have no money." "The auto," she replied quickly. "I will drive it. I've driven it hundreds of miles"---- "Betty," he expostulated, using her name unconsciously. "You cannot--maybe we can find a driver." "I can and I will," she said decisively; "it is only 235 miles. We have eight hours. We can make it. The car is fast and easy to handle." Still arguing, she led him back to the car, and they rode quickly back to the hotel over part of the route they had traversed during their wild flight. They breakfasted while the car was being prepared for the run, studying road maps while they ate. "Betty, how can I ever thank you," he said, leaning forward over the table. "By calling me Miss Tabor and winning the game to-day," she said, coolly, without looking up from the maps. "The car is ready," the head waiter announced. "A good trip to you, Miss Tabor."