"I asked you into this car," he shouted, "because I meant to keep you in it until I had you where you couldn't do any mischief. I told you I'd give you something better than the Journal would give you, and I am going to give you a happy day in the country. We're now on our way to this lady's house. You are my guest, and you can play golf, and bridge, and the piano, and eat and drink until the polls close, and after that you can go to the devil. If you jump out at this speed, you will break your neck. And, if I have to slow up for anything, and you try to get away, I'll go after you--it doesn't matter where it is--and break every bone in your body." "Yah! you can't!" shrieked Mr. Schwab. "You can't do it!" The madness of the flying engines had got upon his nerves. Their poison was surging in his veins. He knew he had only to touch his elbow against the elbow of Winthrop, and he could throw the three of them into eternity. He was travelling on air, uplifted, defiant, carried beyond himself. "I can't do what?" asked Winthrop. The words reached Schwab from an immeasurable distance, as from another planet, a calm, humdrum planet on which events moved in commonplace, orderly array. Without a jar, with no transition stage, instead of hurtling through space, Mr. Schwab found himself luxuriously seated in a cushioned chair, motionless, at the side of a steep bank. For a mile before him stretched an empty road. And, beside him in the car, with arms folded calmly on the wheel there glared at him a grim, alert young man. "I can't do what?" growled the young man. A feeling of great loneliness fell upon "Izzy" Schwab. Where were now those officers, who in the police courts were at his beck and call? Where the numbered houses, the passing surface cars, the sweating multitudes of Eighth Avenue? In all the world he was alone, alone on an empty country road, with a grim, alert young man. "When I asked you how you knew my name," said the young man, "I thought you knew me as having won some races in Florida last winter. This is the car that won. I thought maybe you might have heard of me when I was captain of a football team at--a university. If you have any idea that you can jump from this car and not be killed, or, that I cannot pound you into a pulp, let me prove to you you're wrong--now. We're quite alone. Do you wish to get down?" "No," shrieked Schwab, "I won't!" He turned appealingly to the young lady. "You're a witness," he cried. "If he assaults me, he's liable. I haven't done nothing." "We're near Yonkers," said the young man, "and if you try to take advantage of my having to go slow through the town, you know now what will happen to you." Mr. Schwab having instantly planned on reaching Yonkers, to leap from the car into the arms of the village constable, with suspicious alacrity, assented. The young man regarded him doubtfully.