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 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.
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.
