"Feeling O.K.?" somebody said, and he spun around startled by the unexpected words. It was Pete Worth, to whom he had been introduced earlier in the day. "Sure," replied Woody with all the calm that he could summon. "Just dropped by to make sure you were in the race," Pete said. "Sure, I'm in the race," said Woody, nettled. "Why wouldn't I be?" "Oh, nothing," said Pete. "I saw that Rocky had some trouble and thought it might keep you out of it." He was quite cool, almost insolently so. "Just a flat tire," said Woody. "Ah," said Pete. "Well, lucky it wasn't a front wheel. You can lose control real fast with a front-wheel blowout. See you down there. I'm in ninety-nine--the green TF." He pointed to his car, which was three pit places away. Then he sauntered off. Woody fancied that he was smiling slightly. "Just trying to throw a scare into me," he said to himself. "Front-wheel blowout! Bet they don't get one of them in a million races." Nonetheless, he went around and inspected the tread on his front tires. It looked good. The left-hand one was a little more worn than the right. But not very much. "Both tiptop tires," he said to himself. But he wished the left-hand tire didn't show as much wear as it did. Probably the front end was a little out of line. That would account for it. He tried to think of something else. When Rocky and Steve came back, Woody was looking very solemn. "You feeling all right?" Rocky asked. "Sure," said Woody, "raring to go." But actually he felt just like Tom Wisdom did before a race. He wished he was somewhere else. 11 Woody didn't feel any better when he was down on the starting grid with a school of cars snorting roaring around him. In fact he felt a lot worse, though he would scarcely have believed it was possible to feel worse. Only Steve seemed to notice, however, for both Rocky and Tom who came down to the area with him, were chatting away quite gaily. Woody thought their attitude positively brutal. "Don't you worry, pal," Steve said. "You'll do all right. Take my word for it. Have you done up your safety belt?" Woody discovered that he hadn't. When he got it buckled, the firm clasp around his waist made him feel better. But it didn't stop the trembling in his knees over which he seemed to have no control at all. He hoped Rocky couldn't see the trembling, but she was busy with Tom and not paying him much attention anyway. Woody looked around and licked his lips, which were uncomfortably dry. There wasn't much moisture in his mouth, either. He had drawn a place well back in the pack. In fact, out of a field of twenty-one, there were only four cars farther back than his. He got some comfort out of this. There would be some excuse, perhaps, if he didn't show up too well. After all, a guy driving his first real race couldn't be expected to pass seventeen other drivers. He figured that if he passed one or two of them, he'd be doing well.