The color suddenly left Hazel Holland’s face.

“Quick!  Quick!  Look!” she gasped.

“It’s too hot to keep bobbing up and down,” returned Margery indifferently.

“But look!  Look!”

“Tell me about it, Hazel, dear.  You do not have to get up to see.  I do.”

“Oh?  Buster, there’s going to be a collision.”

“Eh?  What?” Buster was on her feet instantly.

“The train is going to hit the automobile!”

Margery’s face paled.  Her breath came more quickly.  Her eyes grew large and wondering.  The power of speech seemed suddenly to have left her.  They had forgotten all about Grace Thompson in the greater interest of the moment.  Margery shivered with apprehension while beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead.  She was staring in terror at the onrushing car.

“Oh!” she shuddered.  “There’ll surely be a collision.”

“Look!  The chauffeur doesn’t see the train on account of the dust.  Don’t you see the dust rising in the road ahead of the automobile?  The wind is blowing it up ahead and the machine is kicking it up behind.  Hoo-oo!  Hoo-oo!” cried the girl, frantically waving her handkerchief to attract the attention of the driver of the car, at the same time pointing to the rapidly approaching train.

Instead of slackening speed, the driver of the motor car appeared to be putting on more.  The car was rapidly nearing the railroad crossing.  So was the train.

“Oh, I can’t look at it,” cried Margery, throwing herself on the ground and burying her face in her arms.

Hazel stood perfectly rigid.  She scarcely breathed.  Her eyes were wide and staring.

“Ha—­as it hap-p-pened?” faltered Margery.

“No-o-o.  Oh!  The driver is going to be killed!  Oh, oh!”

For one awful second the motor car and engine of the special were swallowed up in a cloud of dust, then out of the cloud darted the locomotive on one side.  On the other dashed the automobile, still on four wheels, continuing at the same reckless speed along the highway.

Hazel uttered a little scream.

“He’s made it.  Oh!” She sank to the ground pale and trembling.  Margery raised a very red, very scared face.

“Wa—­as he killed?”

“No.”

“Oh, fudge!  Why didn’t you scare me to death while you were——­”

“Look Oh, look!”

“I won’t,” declared Margery firmly.  “Go crazy if you wish.  I won’t.”

“It’s Tommy!”

Buster bobbed up in a fresh panic.

The “man” in the motor car was gazing up at the girls waving one hand to them, steering the car with the other hand.

“It’s a woman!” gasped Hazel.

“It’s Crazy Jane,” cried Margery.  “No wonder she nearly ran down a train of cars.”

“Tommy!  Oh, Tom-my!” screamed Hazel Holland, hopping about frantically, waving both arms above her head, seeking to attract the attention of the woman driver as well as that of Tommy.