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.

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.