ahead. I'm--I'm in a devil of a hurry."

"By Gad, sir, so am I. Hi, hold back there! Look out where you're
going, confound you!"

"Now for it," cried Joe to Eleanor. "We've got the lead; I'll bet a
bun he can't catch us." He had deliberately driven across the other's
bows, as it were, scraping the wheel, and was off over Cobberly Road
like the wind. "Turn to your right at the next crossing," he shouted
back to Windomshire. Then to himself hopefully: "If he does that,
he'll miss Fenlock by three miles."

They had covered two rash, terrifying miles before a word was spoken.
Then he heard her voice in his ear--an anxious, troubled voice that
could scarcely be heard above the rushing wind.

"What will we do if the train is late, dear? He'll be--be sure to
catch us."

"She's never late. Besides, what if he does catch us? We don't have to
go back, do we? You're of age. Brace up; be a man!" he called back
encouragingly.

"There are too many men as it is," she wailed, sinking back into the
tonneau.

"Here we are!" he shouted, as the car whizzed into a murky, dimly
lighted street on the edge of Fenlock, the county seat. "There are the
station lights just ahead."