Ainslee's, Vol. 15, No. 5, June 1905

“And that,” Miss Herron asked, for once caught unawares, as it appeared, “is what?”

“Watch!” said Archie, briefly.

They had come by now to the beginning of the solid macadam road that runs across the county, to the joy of the chauffeur as to the corresponding dismay of the truck farmers for whom it was constructed. There was nothing ahead to break the long, hard track. Archie reached down beside him, though his eyes never left his course or one hand the steering wheel, and set his hand to some lever. The song of the great machine was for a second broken; then a new song of the road began, louder and fiercer than the first and in quicker measure. Miss Herron felt as she did the first time she descended in the express elevator of a high office building. She was conscious that her hat was tugging at its pins. She settled herself back deeper in the seat and braced her feet stiffly, only to bounce up as they ran over some stick.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Ahem!”

“Sit tight,” counseled Archie, suavely. “We’ll get there in time, all right, if nothing happens.”

“If anything breaks,” she remarked, “you can usually get somebody to tow the machine home.”

“People are very charitable. Yes, Miss Herron.”

“Up to a point.”

And to that Archie had no rejoinder. It was perhaps as well that he did not see the smile that his passenger wore. It might have taken the edge off his revenge.

The houses commenced to appear at more frequent intervals now, and took on a character a little different from the old weather-grayed dwellings of the open country. There showed a white, slim church spire above the trees.

“Scarborough,” said Archie, and made the horn speak.

“You’ll be careful?” she asked. “Through the village – ”

“Honk! honk!” This for a couple of children, who, starting to run across the road, doubled back like rabbits. Miss Herron caught just a glimpse of their white faces, and the end of their father’s torrent of imprecation. Now it was the horse of a baker’s wagon that climbed the bank by the roadside in two leaps and pranced shiveringly. Some boys cheered and then flung stones.

“Dear me!” ejaculated Miss Herron. “I rather hope we’ll meet nobody I know.”

“The sheriff himself couldn’t stop us now.”

“But – ”

“Honk! honk!”

“Oh, Mr. Fraser!” They missed by a foot a carriage that was beginning slowly to turn around, and was nearly straight across the road when Archie twitched the automobile aside as if it was a polo pony.

“The stupid creatures!” cried Miss Herron, indignantly, when her heart commenced to beat again, “to block the way!”

“That was a close shave,” commented Archie.

“Not too recklessly, Mr. Fraser.”

“I must get you to the meeting, ma’am.”

“But the risk – ”

“If I can’t have Lucy,” the boy declared, sullenly, “I don’t care what happens.”

“Assure me,” demanded his passenger, after a brief moment, during which with no slackening of speed the great machine tore down Scarborough’s main street like a green tornado, “that you retain entire control of the thing.”

“Oh, yes.”

Another pause. “I suggested that you make no mention of Miss Lucy.”

“I can’t have her?”

“How fast can the automobile go?” asked Miss Herron, ignoring the boy’s question.

“Some faster than this. But Lucy can – ”

“Let us not discuss the matter, please.”

“I can’t have her?”

“I beg, Mr. Fraser, I beg you to center your attention on driving your machine.”

“Well, I will, then. I’ll drive her,” said the boy, grimly, “good and fast.” They came again to the open, but the road continued hard and broad, with only long curves around the base of a hill now and then. The wind blew the old lady’s hair into disarray, her dress was gray with dust, her eyes smarted terribly; she gave from time to time a little gasp – or was it a laugh? – and clutched at Archie’s arm, which held so rigid and strong to the tiller wheel. “This’ll be her finish, all right,” he thought. “Cross old cat. Scared?” he asked of her.

“I beg pardon?”

“You’re not scared, I suppose?” he said, mockingly.

“I have been accustomed to fast driving, Mr. Fraser, all my life.”

It was because she made that reply that Archie, quite desperate by now, dared what finally did occur. And this was occasioned by his spying in the distance another big car headed as he was, but moving less rapidly. In a minute he was alongside, and jammed on the brakes. The other driver, who was heavily mustached, red-faced and had three airy young damsels stowed in the tonneau, looked up in surprise.

“Hello, Isidore!”

“Hello! Hello, Mr. Fraser!”

“I’ll race you to the bridge.”

“Go on, now! Watcher think I got here?” But the girls chorused delightedly, and teased their driver – all but one, and she leaned forward to whisper confidingly, with her arms around his fat neck. Miss Herron surveyed the landscape.

“’Fraid cat!” giggled the girl. “You’re afraid, Mr. Mayer.”

“I ain’t, only – ”

“One!” cried Archie, releasing his steed again. “Two!”

“Leggo, May!” grunted the other.

“And – ”

“Three!” yelled Mayer. “To the bridge!”

By mere good luck the highway was empty, for to think that any cart or carriage could be passed was absurd. Side by side the huge machines, scarlet, green, alive with shining brass, tore along with the roar of express trains between the ditch and the bank. The slightest swerve at such speed meant death. The chatter of the careless girls dwindled, the faces of the rival drivers grew pale and tense.

“Oh, be careful!” murmured Miss Herron. “It’s very dangerous.”