From the Car Behind. Eleanor M. Ingram

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      "If ever I can do anything for you," he stammered fervently.

      "I'll give you the chance," promised Gerard, tactfully gay. "Now hurry up your men with the car while I find my mechanician."

      The comrade aid had been given to Rose, without the least relation to Rose's sister. But nevertheless Gerard directed a curious look toward the teeming grand-stand, as he turned to make ready. Was she there, he wondered, the flower-like girl with the name of a flower, who had rested in his arms just so long as a blossom might flutter against one in passing? Would her gaze follow the pink racer, still?

II

       Table of Contents

CORRIE AND HIS OTHER FELLOW

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      The touring car rolled slowly through the October leaves rustling and swirling down the road in jovial wind-eddies, came up to a knoll beside the field, and stopped. The driver turned in his seat to face the two occupants of the tonneau, pushing his goggles up above the line of his fair hair.

      "Look," he urged eagerly. "Look at the pitcher of our home team. There, just crossing the diamond—it's a new inning."

      "It's not the first baseball game you've brought us out to see, Corrie," observed Mr. Thomas Rose, setting his own goggles on his cap above the line of his reddish-gray hair. "Is it, my girl?"

      His daughter laughed, shaking her small head in its crimson hood and glancing roguishly at her brother.

      "Nor the twenty-first, papa," she amplified.

      "Well, but I haven't brought you to see the game, but the pitcher," the boy protested. "He's a new one; you never saw him before. Look."

      "Why?"

      "Because I want you to."

      Flavia Rose obediently turned her gaze toward the players, and upon the indicated man it halted, arrested.

      "Oh!" she exclaimed under her breath, and sat still.

      The men were in their places, alert in poised expectation, the attention of the whole field concentrating upon the central figure of the pitcher at whom the young girl also looked. A slim, straight statue he stood during a full moment, then slowly raised his arms above his head in a gesture of supple grace and ease. The afternoon sun struck across his wind-ruffled brown hair and smiling face, as he gave a brief nod to the catcher and dropped his arm with a lithe, swift movement and turn of his whole body. The white ball shot across, swerving almost at the plate, and crashed into the catcher's mitt.

      "He's got speed!" Mr. Rose approved loudly, standing up in the car. "That's pitching! Who's your friend, Corwin B.?"

      His son did not answer. The ball was back in the pitcher's hands; again he was lifting his arms in the pose his physical beauty made classic. There was repeated the quick nod, the abruptly swift movement, and the ball sped across, dropping oddly.

      "Strike two!" was called.

      Amid the applause and shouts of encouragement, Flavia laid her small, urgent hand on her brother's sleeve.

      "Corrie, who is he? Tell us, please."

      He moved to see her more directly.

      "Do you remember the Beach twenty-four-hour race, last summer, where I finished third? Do you remember how I told you about the big driver, Allan Gerard, who drove my machine for two hours until I could hold the wheel again myself?"

      "Of course."

      "Strike three—you're out!" rang the umpire's announcement; again the joyous shouts interrupted speech.

      "Well, then, that's who."

      "That's Gerard, playing ball?" interrogated Mr. Rose, incredulous. "What for? Lost his racing job?"

      Laughing, Corrie shook his head.

      "No, sir! Gerard is a member of the Mercury automobile company and has their western factory and all that end of the business in his hands. He races the Mercury car because he loves the work and because no one else can do it so well. No; practice for the Cup race opens to-morrow, and he's here on Long Island for that. But the pitcher of our home team put his arm out of business yesterday, and Gerard offered to pitch for this game. He knows everybody here—he always knows everybody everywhere, he's that kind. And I want to ask him to dinner," he concluded irrelevantly.

      Mr. Rose scanned the field for a flying ball, as a sharp crack announced the first hit.

      "Staying out here, or going in to the city each day?" he inquired.

      "He's staying in Jamaica, sir."

      "Then you'd best ask him to stop at your house until the race comes off, or he'll wreck his machine from weakness brought on by starvation," pronounced Mr. Rose, dryly. "One dinner won't carry him through weeks. I know those hotels, myself."

      Corrie gasped, his face swept by delighted awe.

      "Really? Oh, I'd give anything to have Gerard, Gerard, like that! Do you think he'll come?"

      "If he had dinner at his hotel last night, and breakfast and lunch to-day, he'll come," his father assured. "Now be quiet and let me watch the game; it must be near ending."

      "Almost, but——"

      "Never mind the but, Corwin B. Keep cool."

      But Corrie could not keep cool. When his father's attention was engaged he slipped down from his seat and went around to Flavia's side of the car.

      "Do you think he would come?" he asked, for her ears alone. "Don't you want him, too? Why are you so serious—what do you think?"

      Their clear violet-blue eyes met in the intimate household love and understanding of all their lives. Flavia dropped a caressing arm around her brother's shoulders, gently drawing him to face the field.

      "Really look," she bade.

      Puzzled, he obeyed. Gerard was still occupying the centre of the diamond, holding the ball aloft while his meditative gaze apparently dwelt on the batsman. There was scarcely a perceptible turn of his brown head, yet as the two in the car watched, the impromptu pitcher's glance flashed from behind his uplifted arm and he whirled in a half-circle to hurl the unexpected ball straight across the diamond to where a careless enemy had ventured from second base. Too late the startled runner saw; the sudden attack won.

      "You're out!" pealed the quick decision. The game was closed. With the gay uproar of local triumph Mr. Rose mingled his approving applause, still standing upright in the car to view the scene.

      "Well, of what are you thinking?" Corrie repeated. "He's splendid, I know that."

      "I am thinking of Isabel," СКАЧАТЬ