But hark!... Behind, a trumpet-blast winds clear!
Great God! Our dread competitor draws near;
We’d half a minute start, and now, like Fate,
He’s rushing onward to annihilate
Distance and time, whirled in a hurricane!
Inexorably we see him gain and gain....
“Now!--speed her up!” the boy cries out. “More speed!”
“The curséd motor’s gone to sleep!--Indeed,
“We’re hardly doing fifty miles an hour.
“But he won’t pass us yet awhile! More power!”...
The driver heeds; he moves--the furious pace
Grows frenzied! Oh, the glory of a race
Like this of modern days, with steady hand
To steer a whirlwind through a startled land!