IV

Although I felt quite sure that Tish had put up the prize money for Mr.

Ellis, I could not be certain. And Tish's attitude at that time did not

invite inquiry. She took long rides daily with the Ellis man in his gray

car, and I have reason to believe that their objective point was always

the same--the race-track.

Mr. Ellis was the busiest man in Morris Valley. In the daytime he was

superintending putting the track in condition, writing what he called

"promotion stuff," securing entries and forming the center of excited

groups at the drug store and one or other of the two public garages.

In the evenings he was generally to be found at Bettina's feet.

Jasper did not come over any more. He sauntered past, evening after

evening, very much white-flanneled and carrying a tennis racket. And

once or twice he took out his old racing-car, and later shot by the

house with a flutter of veils and a motor coat beside him.

Aggie was exceedingly sorry for him, and even went the length of having

the cook bake a chocolate cake and put it on the window sill to cool. It

had, however, no perceptible effect, except to draw from Mr. Ellis, who

had been round at the garage looking at Jasper's old racer, a remark

that he was exceedingly fond of cake, and if he were urged--

That was, I believe, a week before the race. The big city papers had

taken it up, according to Mr. Ellis, and entries were pouring in.

"That's the trouble on a small track," he said--"we can't crowd 'em.

A dozen cars will be about the limit. Even with using the cattle pens

for repair pits we can't look after more than a dozen. Did I tell you

Heckert had entered his Bonor?"

"No!" we exclaimed. As far as Aggie and I were concerned, the Bonor

might have been a new sort of dog.

"Yes, and Johnson his Sampler. It's going to be some race--eh, what!"

Jasper sauntered over that evening, possibly a late result of the cake,

after all. He greeted us affably, as if his defection of the past week

had been merely incidental, and sat down on the steps.

"I've been thinking, Ellis," he said, "that I'd like to enter my car."

"What!" said Ellis. "Not that--"

"My racer. I'm not much for speed, but there's a sort of feeling in the

town that the locality ought to be represented. As I'm the only owner of

a speed car--"

"Speed car!" said Ellis, and chuckled. "My dear boy, we've got Heckert

with his ninety-horse-power Bonor!"

"Never heard of him." Jasper lighted a cigarette. "Anyhow, what's that

to me? I don't like to race. I've got less speed mania than any owner of

a race car you ever met. But the honor of the town seems to demand a

sacrifice, and I'm it."

"You can try out for it anyhow," said Ellis. "I don't think you'll make

it; but, if you qualify, all right. But don't let any other town people,

from a sense of mistaken local pride, enter a street roller or a

traction engine."

Jasper colored, but kept his temper.

Aggie, however, spoke up indignantly. "Mr. McCutcheon's car was a very

fine racer when it was built."

"_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_," remarked Mr. Ellis, and getting up said

good-night.

Jasper sat on the steps and watched him disappear. Then he turned to

Tish.

"Miss Letitia," he said, "do you think you are wise to drive that racer

of his the way you have been doing?"

Aggie gave a little gasp and promptly sneezed, as she does when she is

excited.

"I?" said Tish.

"You!" he smiled. "Not that I don't admire your courage. I do. But the

other day, now, when you lost a tire and went into the ditch--"

"Tish!" from Aggie.

"--you were fortunate. But when a racer turns over the results are not

pleasant."

"As a matter of fact," said Tish coldly, "it was a wheat-field, not a

ditch."

Jasper got up and threw away his cigarette. "Well, our departing friend

is not the only one who can quote Latin," he said. "_Verbum sap._, Miss

Tish. Good-night, everybody. Good-night, Bettina."

Bettina's good-night was very cool. As I went up to bed that night, I

thought Jasper's chances poor indeed. As for Tish, I endeavored to speak

a few words of remonstrance to her, but she opened her Bible and began to

read the lesson for the day and I was obliged to beat a retreat.

It was that night that Aggie and I, having decided the situation was

beyond us, wrote a letter to Charlie Sands asking him to come up. Just

as I was sealing it Bettina knocked and came in. She closed the door

behind her and stood looking at us both.

"Where is Miss Tish?" she asked.

"Reading her Bible," I said tartly. "When Tish is up to some mischief,

she generally reads an extra chapter or two as atonement."

"Is she--is she always like this?"

"The trouble is," explained Aggie gently, "Miss Letitia is an

enthusiast. Whatever she does, she does with all her heart."

"I feel so responsible," said Bettina. "I try to look after her, but

what can I do?"

"There is only one thing to do," I assured her--"let her alone. If she

wants to fly, let her fly; if she wants to race, let her race--and trust

in Providence."

"I'm afraid Providence has its hands full!" said Bettina, and went to

bed.

For the remainder of that week nothing was talked of in Morris Valley

but the approaching race. Some of Eliza Bailey's friends gave fancy-work

parties for us, which Aggie and I attended. Tish refused, being now

openly at the race-track most of the day. Morris Valley was much

excited. Should it wear motor clothes, or should it follow the example

of the English Derby and the French races and wear its afternoon

reception dress with white kid gloves? Or--it being warm--wouldn't

lingerie clothes and sunshades be most suitable?

Some of the gossip I retailed to Jasper, oil-streaked and greasy, in the

Baileys' garage where he was working over his car.

"Tell 'em to wear mourning," he said pessimistically. "There's always a

fatality or two. If there wasn't a fair chance of it nothing would make

'em sit for hours watching dusty streaks going by."

The race was scheduled for Wednesday. On Sunday night the cars began to

come in. On Monday Tish took us all, including Bettina, to the track.

There were half a dozen tents in the oval, one of them marked with a

huge red cross.

"Hospital tent," said Tish calmly. We even, on permission from Mr.

Ellis, went round the track. At one spot Tish stopped the car and got

out.

"Nail," she said briefly. "It's been a horse-racing track for years, and

we've gathered a bushel of horse-shoe nails."

Aggie and I said nothing, but we looked at each other. Tish had said

"we." Evidently Cousin Angeline's legacy was not going into a mortgage.

The fair-grounds were almost ready. Peanut and lunch stands had sprung

up everywhere. The oval, save by the tents and the repair pits, was

marked off into parking-spaces numbered on tall banners. Groups of dirty

men in overalls, carrying machine wrenches, small boys with buckets of

water, onlookers round the tents and track-rollers made the place look

busy and interesting. Some of the excitement, I confess, got into my

blood. Tish, on the contrary, was calm and businesslike. We were sorry

we had sent for Charlie Sands. She no longer went out in Mr. Ellis's

car, and that evening she went back to the kitchen and made a boiled

salad dressing.

We were all deceived.

Charlie Sands came the next morning. He was on the veranda reading a

paper when we got down to breakfast. Tish's face was a study.

"Who sent for you?" she demanded.

"Sent for me! Why, who would send for me? I'm here to write up the race.

I thought, if you haven't been out to the track, we'd go out this

morning."

"We've been out," said Tish shortly, and we went in to breakfast. Once

or twice during the meal I caught her eye on me and on Aggie and she was

short with us both. While she was upstairs I had a word with Charlie

Sands.

"Well," he said, "what is it this time? Is she racing?"

"Worse than that," I replied. "I think she's backing the thing!"

"No!"

"With her cousin Angeline's legacy." With that I told him about our

meeting Mr. Ellis and the whole story. He listened without a word.

"So that's the situation," I finished. "He has her hypnotized, Charlie.

What's more, I shouldn't be surprised to see her enter the race under an

assumed name."

Charlie Sands looked at the racing list in the Morris Valley Sun.

"Good cars all of them," he said. "She's not here among the drivers,

unless she's--Who are these drivers anyhow? I never heard of any of

them."

"It's a small race," I suggested. "I dare say the big men--"

"Perhaps." He put away his paper and got up. "I'll just wander round the

town for an hour or two, Aunt Lizzie," he said. "I believe there's a

nigger in this woodpile and I'm a right nifty little nigger-chaser."

When he came back about noon, however, he looked puzzled. I drew him

aside.

"It seems on the level," he said. "It's so darned open it makes me

suspicious. But she's back of it all right. I got her bank on the

long-distance 'phone."

We spent that afternoon at the track, with the different cars doing what

I think they called "trying out heats." It appeared that a car, to

qualify, must do a certain distance in a certain time. It grew

monotonous after a while. All but one entry qualified and Jasper just

made it. The best showing was made by the Bonor car, according to

Charlie Sands.

Jasper came to our machine when it was over, smiling without any

particular good cheer.

"I've made it and that's all," he said. "I've got about as much chance

as a watermelon at a colored picnic. I'm being slaughtered to make a

Roman holiday."

"If you feel that way why do you do it?" demanded Bettina coldly. "If

you go in expecting to be slaughtered--"

He was leaning on the side of the car and looked up at her with eyes

that made my heart ache, they were so wretched.

"What does it matter?" he said. "I'll probably trail in at the last,

sound in wind and limb. If I don't, what does it matter?"

He turned and left us at that, and I looked at Bettina. She had her lips

shut tight and was blinking hard. I wished that Jasper had looked back.

V

Charlie Sands announced at dinner that he intended to spend the night at

the track.

Tish put down her fork and looked at him. "Why?" she demanded.

"I'm going to help the boy next door watch his car," he said calmly.

"Nothing against your friend Mr. Ellis, Aunt Tish, but some enemy of

true sport might take a notion in the night to slip a dope pill into

the mouth of friend Jasper's car and have her go to sleep on the track

to-morrow."

We spent a quiet evening. Mr. Ellis was busy, of course, and so was

Jasper. The boy came to the house to get Charlie Sands and, I suppose,

for a word with Bettina, for when he saw us all on the porch he looked,

as you may say, thwarted.

When Charlie Sands had gone up for his pajamas and dressing-gown, Jasper

stood looking up at us.

"Oh, Association of Chaperons!" he said, "is it permitted that my lady

walk to the gate with me--alone?"

"I am not your lady," flashed Bettina.

"You've nothing to say about that," he said recklessly. "I've selected

you; you can't help it. I haven't claimed that you have selected me."

"Anyhow, I don't wish to go to the gate," said Bettina.

He went rather white at that, and Charlie Sands coming down at that

moment with a pair of red-and-white pajamas under his arm and a

toothbrush sticking out of his breast pocket, romance, as Jasper said

later in referring to it, "was buried in Sands."

Jasper went up to Bettina and held out his hand. "You'll wish me luck,

won't you?"

"Of course." She took his hand. "But I think you're a bit of a coward,

Jasper!"

He eyed her. "Coward!" he said. "I'm the bravest man you know. I'm doing

a thing I'm scared to death to do!"

* * * * *

The race was to begin at two o'clock in the afternoon. There were small

races to be run first, but the real event was due at three.

From early in the morning a procession of cars from out of town poured

in past Eliza Bailey's front porch, and by noon her cretonne cushions

were thick with dust. And not only automobiles came, but hay-wagons,

side-bar buggies, delivery carts--anything and everything that could

transport the crowd.

At noon Mr. Ellis telephoned Tish that the grand-stand was sold out and

that almost all the parking-places that had been reserved were taken.

Charlie Sands came home to luncheon with a curious smile on his face.

"How are you betting, Aunt Tish?" he asked.

"Betting!"

"Yes. Has Ellis let you in on the betting?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," Tish said sourly. "Mr. Ellis

controls the betting so that it may be done in an orderly manner. I am

sure I have nothing to do with it."

"I'd like to bet a little, Charlie," Aggie put in with an eye on Tish.

"I'd put all I win on the collection plate on Sunday."

"Very well." Charlie Sands took out his notebook. "On what car and how

much?"

"Ten dollars on the Fein. It made the best time at the trial heats."

"I wouldn't if I were you," said Charlie Sands. "Suppose we put it on

our young friend next door."

Bettina rather sniffed. "On Jasper!" she exclaimed.

"On Jasper," said Charlie Sands gravely.

Tish, who had hardly heard us, looked up from her plate.

"Betting is betting," she snapped. "Putting it on the collection plate

doesn't help any." But with that she caught Charlie Sands' eye and he

winked at her. Tish colored. "Gambling is one thing, clean sport is

another," she said hotly.

I believe, however, that whatever Charlie Sands may have suspected, he

really knew nothing until the race had started. By that time it was too

late to prevent it, and the only way he could think of to avoid getting

Tish involved in a scandal was to let it go on.

We went to the track in Tish's car and parked in the oval. Not near the

grandstand, however. Tish had picked out for herself a curve at one end

of the track which Mr. Ellis had said was the worst bit on the course.

"He says," said Tish, as we put the top down and got out the vacuum

bottle--oh, yes, Mr. Ellis had sent Tish one as a present--"that if

there are any smashups they'll occur here."

Aggie is not a bloodthirsty woman ordinarily, but her face quite lit up.

"Not really!" she said.

"They'll probably turn turtle," said Tish. "There is never a race

without a fatality or two. No racer can get any life insurance. Mr.

Ellis says four men were killed at the last race he promoted."

"Then I think Mr. Ellis is a murderer," Bettina cried. We all looked at

her. She was limp and white and was leaning back among the cushions with

her eyes shut. "Why didn't you tell Jasper about this curve?" she

demanded of Tish.

But at that moment a pistol shot rang out and the races were on.

The Fein won two of the three small races. Jasper was entered only for

the big race. In the interval before the race was on, Jasper went round

the track slowly, looking for Bettina. When he saw us he waved, but did

not stop. He was number thirteen.

I shall not describe the race. After the first round or two, what with

dust in my eyes and my neck aching from turning my head so rapidly, I

just sat back and let them spin in front of me.

It was after a dozen laps or so, with number thirteen doing as well as

any of them, that Tish was arrested.

Charlie Sands came up beside the car with a gentleman named Atkins, who

turned out to be a county detective. Charlie Sands was looking stern and

severe, but the detective was rather apologetic.

"This is Miss Carberry," said Charlie Sands. "Aunt Tish, this gentleman

wishes to speak to you."

"Come around after the race," Tish observed calmly.

"Miss Carberry," said the detective gently, "I believe you are back of

this race, aren't you?"

"What if I am?" demanded Tish.

Charlie Sands put a hand on the detective's arm. "It's like this, Aunt

Tish," he said; "you are accused of practicing a short-change game,

that's all. This race is sewed up. You employ those racing-cars with

drivers at an average of fifty dollars a week. They are hardly worth it,

Aunt Tish. I could have got you a better string for twenty-five."

Tish opened her mouth and shut it again without speaking.

"You also control the betting privileges. As you own all the racers you

have probably known for a couple of weeks who will win the race. Having

made the Fein favorite, you can bet on a Brand or a Bonor, or whatever

one you chance to like, and win out. Only I take it rather hard of you,

Aunt Tish, not to have let the family in. I'm hard up as the dickens."

"Charlie Sands!" said Tish impressively. "If you are joking--"

"Joking! Did you ever know a county detective to arrest a prominent

woman at a race-track as a little jest between friends? There's no joke,

Aunt Tish. You've financed a phony race. The permit is taken in your

name--L. Carberry. Whatever car wins, you and Ellis take the prize

money, half the gate receipts, and what you have made out of the

betting--"

Tish rose in the machine and held out both her hands to Mr. Atkins.

"Officer, perform your duty," she said solemnly. "Ignorance is no

defense and I know it. Where are the handcuffs?"

"We'll not bother about them, Miss Carberry", he said. "If you like I'll

get into the car and you can tell me all about it while we watch the

race. Which car is to win?"

"I may have been a fool, Mr. County Detective," she said coldly; "but

I'm not a knave. I have not bet a dollar on the race."

We were very silent for a time. The detective seemed to enjoy the race

very much and ate peanuts out of his pocket. He even bought a

red-and-black pennant, with "Morris Valley Races" on it, and fastened it

to the car. Charlie Sands, however, sat with his arms folded, stiff and

severe.

Once Tish bent forward and touched his arm.

"You--you don't think it will get in the papers, do you?" she quavered.

Charlie Sands looked at her with gloom. "I shall have to send it myself,

Aunt Tish," he said; "it is my duty to my paper. Even my family pride,

hurt to the quick and quivering as it is, must not interfere with my

duty."

It was Bettina who suggested a way out--Bettina, who had sat back as

pale as Tish and heard that her Mr. Ellis was, as Charlie Sands said

later, as crooked as a pretzel.

"But Jasper was not--not subsidized," she said. "If he wins, it's all

right, isn't it?"

The county detective turned to her.

"Jasper?" he said.

"A young man who lives here." Bettina colored.

"He is--not to be suspected?"

"Certainly not," said Bettina haughtily; "he is above suspicion.

Besides, he--he and Mr. Ellis are not friends."

Well, the county detective was no fool. He saw the situation that

minute, and smiled when he offered Bettina a peanut. "Of course," he

said cheerfully, "if the race is won by a Morris Valley man, and not by

one of the Ellis cars, I don't suppose the district attorney would care

to do anything about it. In fact," he said, smiling at Bettina, "I don't

know that I'd put it up to the district attorney at all. A warning to

Ellis would get him out of the State."

It was just at that moment that car number thirteen, coming round the

curve, skidded into the field, threw out both Jasper McCutcheon and his

mechanician, and after standing on two wheels for an appreciable moment

of time, righted herself, panting, with her nose against a post.

Jasper sat up almost immediately and caught at his shoulder. The

mechanician was stunned. He got up, took a step or two and fell down,

weak with fright.

I do not recall very distinctly what happened next. We got out of the

machine, I remember, and Bettina was cutting off Jasper's sweater with

Charlie Sands' penknife, and crying as she did it. And Charlie Sands was

trying to prevent Jasper from getting back into his car, while Jasper

was protesting that he could win in two or more laps and that he could

drive with one hand--he'd only broken his arm.

The crowd had gathered round us, thick. Suddenly they drew back, and

in a sort of haze I saw Tish in Jasper's car, with Aggie, as white as

death, holding to Tish's sleeve and begging her not to get in. The next

moment Tish let in the clutch of the racer and Aggie took a sort of

flying leap and landed beside her in the mechanician's seat.

Charlie Sands saw it when I did, but we were both too late. Tish was

crossing the ditch into the track again, and the moment she struck level

ground she put up the gasoline.

It was just then that Aggie fell out, landing, as I have said before, in

a pile of sand. Tish said afterward that she never missed her. She had

just discovered that this was not Jasper's old car, which she knew

something about, but a new racer with the old hood and seat put on in

order to fool Mr. Ellis. She didn't know a thing about it.

Well, you know the rest--how Tish, trying to find how the gears worked,

side-swiped the Bonor car and threw it off the field and out of the

race; how, with the grandstand going crazy, she skidded off the track

into the field, turned completely round twice, and found herself on the

track again facing the way she wanted to go; how, at the last lap, she

threw a tire and, without cutting down her speed, bumped home the

winner, with the end of her tongue nearly bitten off and her spine

fairly driven up into her skull.

[Illustration: Without cutting down her speed, bumped home the winner]

All this is well known now, as is also the fact that Mr. Ellis

disappeared from the judges' stand after a word or two with Mr. Atkins,

and was never seen at Morris Valley again.

Tish came out of the race ahead by half the gate money--six thousand

dollars--by a thousand dollars from concessions, and a lame back that

she kept all winter. Even deducting the twenty-five hundred she had put

up, she was forty-five hundred dollars ahead, not counting the prize

money. Charlie Sand brought the money from the track that night, after

having paid off Mr. Ellis's racing-string and given Mr. Atkins a small

present. He took over the prize money to Jasper and came back with it,

Jasper maintaining that it belonged to Tish, and that he had only raced

for the honor of Morris Valley. For some time the money went begging,

but it settled itself naturally enough, Tish giving it to Jasper in the

event of--but that came later.

On the following evening--Bettina, in the pursuit of learning to cook,

having baked a chocolate cake--we saw Jasper, with his arm in a sling,

crossing the side lawn.

Jasper stopped at the foot of the steps. "I see a chocolate cake cooling

on the kitchen porch," he said. "Did you order it, Miss Lizzie?"