"There's nae explanation for a mon deciding tae drive a car that's only been in two races and has had an accident each time, other than lunacy," Worm snapped. "Well, maybe it is lunacy," replied Woody. "But Dad doesn't seem to think so. And neither does Mary Jane." "Ye mean tae tell me yer father is going tae let ye drive yon man-killer?" "Yes," said Woody. "Because I explained the reasons to him." "And what might be yere reasons?" Worm demanded. "There's only one! I'm afraid. I'm afraid to drive any racing car. I became afraid the first race I was in when I nearly hit a telephone pole, and I've been scared ever since. I was even more scared after the Black Tiger--after Randy was killed in the Black Tiger. And the only way for me to get my courage back is to drive the car in a race. That's all." When he had finished, Worm's long pale face was a study. He opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut without uttering a word. He stared at Woody in silence for several seconds and then walked out of the office where the conversation had taken place. He stayed away for several minutes, just standing outside the garage with his thin hands on his hips and staring at his feet. Then he fished for a cigarette, lit it, took a puff on it, threw it away, and came back into the office. "Gie me yere hand, laddie," he said. "I'm ashamed of meself. Ye've got more guts than I have, for ye're doing the thing I should have done meself fifteen years ago. If I'd driven in just one more race after that accident, I'd have been a happier mon today. Instead, I've been fifteen years wi' a nightmare. Ah, well. 'Tis never too late tae mend, they say. I'm wi' ye in this. I'll go over yon Black Tiger wi' a fine-tooth comb and a magnet. I'll do more than that. I'll take it out on the desert roads wi' ye and test it meself. I'll corner it and brake it and pour the coal tae it until I've driven oot any bugs there are in it meself, or me name is not William Orville Randolph McNess of Aberdeen. "Have ye told yon Rocky that ye'll race the car?" "Not yet," said Woody. "She's in San Diego." "Weel, get on the phone and tell her noo. Dinna' worry aboot the charges. I'll stand them meself. The Hieland Scots, ye understand, are a generous race of people, and 'tis one of the main faults in them." When Woody in the next few minutes called Rocky to say he'd drive the Black Tiger for her, she was jubilant. She said she'd bring the car up the very next day so that there would be ample time to check it and test it before the Pebble Beach race, which was the event in which it would be entered.