"Wonder what's come over him," he said. "Maybe he's trying to make up for not lending you that dough the other night," Steve suggested. Woody shook his head. "He thinks he did me a favor," he said. "His idea of dames is that the more money they let you spend on them, the less they are worth." "Maybe he's got something there," said Steve. Worm now returned with the eight plugs. They were of an Italian make, each wrapped in a piece of greased paper on which instructions on their care and setting were printed. Happily these were printed in English as well. "I'll set them myself for ye," said Worm. "But ye'd best not use them until the speed trial. Hoo are ye going tae get yon bucket of bolts oot to the track? Ye canna drive it through the streets wi' only two gears. Onyway, I don't think the police would let ye, wi' the engine beside the driver." Woody explained that the car would have to be towed. He had a tow bar and hoped to borrow somebody else's car for the job. Again Worm surprised him. "We can use the Dodge," he said. This was indeed a concession, for the Dodge, a 1928 model, was Worm's greatest love. He'd bought it in a junk yard for ten dollars and rebuilt it himself. Every year he took the whole engine apart, renewed any parts that were worn, and put it back together again. New parts he had to make himself or have made. Yet he would not consider buying another car and puttered back and forth in the Dodge at a maximum speed of thirty miles an hour. The Dodge had solid wheels and strange thin tires. Its seats compelled their occupants to sit bolt upright. It was a roadster, with a canvas top set on oak supports. When it rained, and the top was put up, side curtains of isinglass had to be installed to keep the rain out. The windshield wiper operated spasmodically off the manifold vacuum, and the gas tank, made of brass, was outside the car, slung in the rear. Nonetheless, it never failed to start at the press of a button, and since it couldn't go any faster than thirty miles an hour, its two-wheel mechanical brakes were adequate. That evening Woody worked late making up a batch of dope for Cindy Lou. The highest octane gasoline available was not good enough to give her top performance. She needed special fuel of which the base was gasoline. But, to this, Woody added alcohol and nitro-methane, the whole concoction smelling vilely and promising an explosion at any moment. He mixed up a total of six gallons, which he placed in three two-gallon containers and put them in a cool part of the garage. When he got home that evening--it was Friday--he was dog tired and almost too excited to eat. Cindy Lou was hopped up as well as he could do with his present equipment. She ought to do well. And if she did, he'd enter her in the Southcal Drag Races at the old Burbank airport in two weeks. That could mean winning a cup.