Jimmy Kirkland and the Plot for a Pennant Part 33

The gateman let him out with a sympathetic word, but he did not raise his head. He knew that, 235 miles away, twenty men were hoping for his arrival. He would hire a special train. He whirled at the thought--and then remembered he was without money.

He felt a hand touch his arm and, turning quickly, he saw Betty Tabor.

"I missed it," he said, hopelessly.

"I know, I know," she responded quickly. "The boy who had the tickets told me. There is no time to lose. I have a plan."

"A special train?" he asked. "I have no money."

"The auto," she replied quickly. "I will drive it. I've driven it hundreds of miles"----

"Betty," he expostulated, using her name unconsciously. "You cannot--maybe we can find a driver."

"I can and I will," she said decisively; "it is only 235 miles. We have eight hours. We can make it. The car is fast and easy to handle."

Still arguing, she led him back to the car, and they rode quickly back to the hotel over part of the route they had traversed during their wild flight. They breakfasted while the car was being prepared for the run, studying road maps while they ate.

"Betty, how can I ever thank you," he said, leaning forward over the table.

"By calling me Miss Tabor and winning the game to-day," she said, coolly, without looking up from the maps.

"The car is ready," the head waiter announced. "A good trip to you, Miss Tabor."

"You have a good driver, McCarthy," said the manager, who alone knew the object of the trip. "She handles that car better than I do. I have given her permission to tear it to pieces to get you through."

The start was undramatic. The car rolled easily along to the drive and presently was lifting and dropping over the hills of the splendid speedway. A gentle breeze from the river fanned them as they rushed through it.

In five minutes they were clear of the congested traffic on the bridge and the car, gathering speed, rushed into the hills on the opposite side of the river. Five minutes later the car was quivering with its increasing speed and McCarthy, looking at the gauge, saw that it registered forty-seven miles, and was still sliding forward. Fourteen miles across the rolling plateau the car raced with sustained speed, the engine humming in perfect tune and only the heavier vibration of the tires attesting the speed. At slower pace the car climbed among the ridge of hills that had been rising ahead, and after five miles of rougher going it turned into the old stage road.

"It's five minutes past nine," said the girl, "and we've done more than forty miles already. The next forty is good and we'll try to gain time."

"We ought to make it easily," he responded brightly. "You're a heroine."

"I do not know what the roads are beyond Hedgeport," she interrupted anxiously. "It is hill country. It rained two days ago."

She had steadily increased the speed again until the indicator kept constantly around the forty-five mile mark. The speed was terrific and made conversation almost impossible.

"Hadn't you better rest? You must be tired," he screamed above the noise of the car.

"Arms are cramped," she replied, without lifting her eyes from the road ahead. "We'll take gas at Hedgeport and walk around. We will lunch somewhere near Hilton. We'll be over the worst of the road then."

"I wish I could help you," called McCarthy, after a long silence.

She shook her head, and, after the car had throbbed up the next incline and was sailing, hawklike, down the opposite side, she said:

"You'll need your strength for the game. There's Hedgeport now."

Before them, set on the hillside, lay the little city. It seemed as if the houses grew by magic as they rushed upon it. They flashed past a few market wagons, pa.s.sed another auto chugging along busily, and slackened the pace as the car rolled upon the brick pavements and toward the heart of the city.

"A hundred and thirty-one miles in a little over three hours," said McCarthy, elated. "That leaves us one hundred and four miles and more than four hours to make it in. We've won."

"The road has been perfect," Betty Tabor said. "For the next fifty miles it is marked bad."

She turned quietly to ask questions of the mechanician, who was overhauling and examining every part of the machine, and examining the feed pipes. Another man was filling the tanks and using oil plentifully.

"My hands and wrists are cramped and numb," she remarked, turning to McCarthy.

"Let the man drive the rest of the way. He knows the road," he urged.

"And leave me--to miss the game?" she asked. "Not much. Rub my hands, please."

She extended her strong, firm hand and McCarthy, bending over it, ma.s.saged and slapped it vigorously.

"Don't break it, please," she said, laughing. "Take the other one."

"Both," he whispered, his voice full of meaning.

"All ready," announced the garage keeper. "I think she'll stand it now."

"It's 11.10," said McCarthy. "If we get there by three."

"If we get there at all," she said, "even if you are late, you can get into the game."

For five miles they sped along over perfect roads, then suddenly a long stretch of new macadam loomed ahead. For three miles they lurched and struggled, and were free again, but the road was heavy and slow. Up hill and down they fought the road, at times slipping, lurching and skidding while the girl coaxed the car onward. The road grew worse and worse. The hills were steeper. The rain-guttered mud at times almost stalled the car.

"Twenty miles in an hour and ten minutes," groaned McCarthy. "This won't do."

The next hour was even worse. The girl was showing signs of weariness and the strain of holding the machine in the rough going. Three miles of good road across a hill-top plateau raised their courage, then they encountered sand.

It was twenty minutes to two o'clock, when, mud splattered, they raced into Hilton, with the car missing fire in one cylinder, the engine smoking and gasoline almost exhausted.

McCarthy almost lifted Betty Tabor from the car as they stopped at the garage and she gave rapid directions to the manager, explaining the need of haste.

"I'm afraid the car won't get you through," he said, "but we'll try."

"Have it ready at two o'clock," she ordered quickly. "We must get through somehow."

"It's thirty-four miles," he said. "But the roads are fair. If the car was in shape it would be easy."

"We'll eat lunch while you overhaul it," she replied.

McCarthy secured the lunch from the car and they spread it upon the gra.s.s in the yard and ate. The girl was too weary for conversation, but as she ate she seemed to gain strength and courage.

"We'll get there before the game is over, anyhow," she said quietly.

"I want to see Williams's face when you come onto the field."

"I thought you and he"----