The Black Tiger roared into life and shot down the old asphalt road. Woody grinned. It had been a bigger struggle for Worm, he knew, to drive the Black Tiger, than it would be for him. And Worm had made it. Worm's first two laps were anything but impressive. He seemed to be driving with such extreme caution that it would not have been difficult to keep up with him in a much less powerful car. But when Worm passed Woody for the third time, he took one hand off the steering wheel, waved, and hit the accelerator. It seemed to Woody as if the Black Tiger was melting in the sun, it disappeared from view so fast. There was a corner about two hundred yards from the starting place, and Worm took this without even skidding his wheels. He reappeared over the top of a hill and plunged down again, the Tiger roaring its enjoyment of the game. As he flashed by again, Woody saw that Worm was driving like Randy used to. He was sitting well back in his seat, almost lolling there. His hands held the steering wheel in a light grip. And there was a smile on his thin face. Worm did more than ten laps. It was fifteen before he stopped the Black Tiger, unfastened his safety belt, and climbed out of the seat. "How did I do?" he asked. "Gee," said Woody, "I was so nervous about you that I forgot to use the stop watch." "Nervous about me!" exclaimed Worm. "Why, laddie, I was driving cars wi' twice the horsepower of yon Black Tiger before ye were born." But he gave Woody another of his rare winks, and his face was beaming. He looked, in fact, quite young again. It was now Woody's turn, and he got behind the wheel and fastened his safety belt. "There's nothing wrong wi' her that I can find," said Worm. "She corners better than any car I've ever handled. The main thing is tae get the feel of her. Take her aroond slowly at first till ye know how fast she turns when ye pull the wheel over. Change doon and try tae make her slide on corners. Find oot when she breaks out of a slide. Take it easy at first. We've got all day. Make her do what you want her tae do--not what she wants tae do. That's the whole secret of driving." Woody looked along the low slim hood in front of him and at the dashboard with its telltale dials. Tachometer. Speedometer. Oil-pressure gauge. Water-temperature gauge. Gas gauge. Each was a separate dial. He slipped the gearshift into low and started off. His confidence had been restored to some extent by watching Worm, but he took the first two laps slowly, studying the reactions of the car. She seemed all power and eagerness. Corners taken at sixty-five miles an hour on the asphalt didn't bother her. She slipped smoothly in and out of gear but seemed to be constantly straining to go faster.