Moment by moment she gathered speed, mounting the steep banking accurately with every lap, until she was roaring and rattling round the very uppermost edge like a bright-red marble in a basin. Santoni slowly sauntered over to them, performing a sort of involuntary waltz as he turned to follow her with his goggle eyes. “Maybe she ain’t no funeral, either,” he said. “You ought to be lynched for letting her do it, San,” said Teddy. “It isn’t a girl’s game.” “Well, wouldn’t that jar you?” Santoni turned on Ryan with palms outspread. “First he was sore because he thought she couldn’t ride, and now he’s sore because she can!” Teddy made no reply. A new and strange feeling gripped him by the throat until he choked. As he watched the track, a picture engraved itself indelibly on his heart: a tiny scarlet figure astride a machine that roared round and round with fiendish energy until it hung out almost horizontally from the steep rim of the banking. Sadie’s black eyes were narrowed to slits; her roped hair flew out behind her; her lips were compressed in the lust of speed as she braced her strong little knees and elbows hard against the leaping of her angry motor. This was a sort of girl he had never imagined in his wildest speculations. A girl who understood motors, he thought, could not fail to be in every other way admirable. From such a girl, for example, a man need never fear anything less than a square deal. When she cut off her ignition and slipped gradually down the banking, he was the first to assist her to alight. “Say, kid, I want to tell you I’m sorry,” he whispered before the others ran up. “I’m glad you’re going to ride with us.” For a moment the “Queen’s” eyes danced with pleasure; then they became softly diffident again as she turned away to stable her machine. “I don’t fancy I’ll let the show down so badly,” she smiled over her shoulder. In truth, the popularity of Sadie Simmons among the crowds that flocked to the velodrome was immediate and great. She was irresistibly diminutive and dainty, and silent and retiring in manner when not racing; but once on her machine, rattling and bouncing round the circumscribed track with the noise of a whole express-train, she was transformed into a little red imp of daring unexcelled by the men; and though they consistently beat her when it came to a test, it was Sadie whom the crowds cheered and the fans petted. A faded woman, of an incurable pessimism, clucked everywhere after her, like a hen after an adventurous duckling. Except for this unexhilarating person, whom she addressed as “Aunty,” but who frequently forgot the suggested relationship and called her “Miss,” Sadie appeared to be quite alone in the world. She accepted with frank pleasure the friendly advances of the fans, the comradeship of Wild Will Ryan, and the wondering worship of Teddy Rocco. One morning Ryan emerged from the garage, laughing immoderately, and pressing a hand to his face.