“You’ve about reached the limit, have you?” The question was straightforward, matter-of-fact in tone, but King knew the sympathy behind it.

“I rather have,” the young man admitted.  “I’m ashamed to own it.”

“You needn’t be.  It’s a wonder you haven’t reached it sooner; I should have.  Well, if you stand this drive pretty well to-day you ought to come on fast.  With that back, you may be thankful you’re getting off as easily as you are.”

“I am thankful—­everlastingly thankful.  It’s just—­”

“I know.  Blow off some of that steam; it won’t hurt you.  Here we are on the straight road.  I’ll open up and give you a taste of what poor Henley felt the first time his crippled body and his big, uncrippled spirit tasted the delight of ‘Speed.’  Remember?”

“Indeed I do.  Oh, I’m not complaining.  You understand that, Red?”

“Of course I understand—­absolutely.  And I understand that you need just what I say—­to blow off a lot of steam.  Hurt you or not, I’m going to let loose for a couple of miles and blow it off for you.”

In silence, broken only by the low song of the motor as it voiced its joy in the widening license to show its power, the two men took the wind in their faces as the car shot down the road, at the moment a clear highway for them.  King had snatched off his hat, and his dark hair blew wildly about his forehead, while his eyes watched the way as intently as if he had been driving himself, though his body hardly tensed, so complete was his confidence in the steady hands on the wheel.  Faster and faster flew the car, until the speed indicator touched a mark seldom passed by King himself at his most reckless moments.  His lips, set at first, broke into a smile as the pointing needle circled the dial, and his eyes, if any could have seen them, would have told the relief there was for him in escape by flight, though only temporary, from the grinding pull of monotony and disablement.

At the turn ahead appeared obstruction, and Burns was obliged to begin slowing down.  When the car was again at its ordinary by no means slow pace, King spoke: 

“Bless you for a mind reader!  That was bully, and blew away a lot of distemper.  If you’ll just do it again going back I’ll submit to the afternoon of a clam in a bed of mud.”

“Good.  We’ll beat that record going back, if we break the speedometer.  Racing with time isn’t supposed to be the game for a convalescent, but I’m inclined to think it’s the dose you need, just the same.  I expect, Jord, that the first time you pull on a pair of rubber boots and go to climbing around a big concrete dam somewhere your heart will break for joy.”

“My heart will stand anything, so that it’s action.”

“Will it?  I thought it might be a bit damaged.  It’s had a good deal of reaction to stand lately, I’m afraid.”

There was silence for a minute, then King spoke: 

“Red, you’re a wizard.”