was short and chunky; also, he was stout. Had he been standing it would
have been evident that he was almost as wide as he was long. He had a
pleasant face and smiled occasionally, though upon each occasion this
smile died away in a sickly grin as the car leaped high in the air after
striking a particularly large obstruction in the road, or veering crazily
to one side as it turned sharply. In each case the grin was succeeded by
a gasp for breath.

The figure was that of Mr. Anthony Stubbs, war correspondent of the New
York _Gazette_, on the firing line in Europe to gather facts for his
newspaper. He was attired in a riding suit of khaki.

Said Mr. Stubbs:

"Well, we may get there and we may not."

"Oh, we'll get there all right, Mr. Stubbs!" Chester raised his voice to
make himself heard.

"We're likely to land out here in the ditch," was Stubbs' reply. "The way
Hal runs this car, there is no telling what may happen."

"Not frightened, are you, Mr. Stubbs?" asked Chester, grinning.

"Frightened?" echoed Stubbs. "Why should I be frightened? We can't be
going more than a couple of hundred miles an hour. No, I'm not
frightened. I'm what you call scared. Wow!"

This last ejaculation was drawn from the little man as he was pitched
over into Chester's lap by an extra violent lurch of the car. He threw