into Fifth Avenue. Again the power was off as he made
the turn into Fifth Avenue at a snail's pace.

"Can't let her out yet," he whispered
apologetically. "Had to make these turns. There's no
room for her inside of town."

Mary had no time to answer. He touched the wheel,
and the car shot up the deserted Avenue. She gasped
for breath and braced her feet, her whole being
tingling with the first exhilarating consciousness that
she too was possessed of the devil of speed madness.
It was glorious! For the first time in her life, space
and distance lost their meaning. She was free as the
birds in the heavens. She was flying on the wings of
this gray, steel monster through space. The palaces on
the Avenue whirled by in dim ghost-like flashes. They
flew through Central Park into Seventy-second Street
and out into the Drive. The waters of the river, broad
and cool, flashing in the morning sun, rested her eyes
a moment and then faded in a twinkling. They had
leaped the chasm beyond Grant's Tomb, plunged into
Broadway and before she could get her bearings, swept
up the hill at One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Street,
slipped gracefully across the iron bridge and in a
jiffy were lost in a gray cloud of dust on the Boston
Turnpike.

When the first intoxicating joy of speed had spent
itself, she found herself shuddering at the daring