Tish: The Chronicle of Her Escapades and Excursions

  IV

  Although I felt quite sure that Tish had put up the prize money for Mr.Ellis, I could not be certain. And Tish's attitude at that time did notinvite inquiry. She took long rides daily with the Ellis man in his graycar, and I have reason to believe that their objective point was alwaysthe same--the race-track.

  Mr. Ellis was the busiest man in Morris Valley. In the daytime he wassuperintending putting the track in condition, writing what he called"promotion stuff," securing entries and forming the center of excitedgroups at the drug store and one or other of the two public garages.In the evenings he was generally to be found at Bettina's feet.

  Jasper did not come over any more. He sauntered past, evening afterevening, very much white-flanneled and carrying a tennis racket. Andonce or twice he took out his old racing-car, and later shot by thehouse with a flutter of veils and a motor coat beside him.

  Aggie was exceedingly sorry for him, and even went the length of havingthe cook bake a chocolate cake and put it on the window sill to cool. Ithad, however, no perceptible effect, except to draw from Mr. Ellis, whohad been round at the garage looking at Jasper's old racer, a remarkthat he was exceedingly fond of cake, and if he were urged--

  That was, I believe, a week before the race. The big city papers hadtaken it up, according to Mr. Ellis, and entries were pouring in.

  "That's the trouble on a small track," he said--"we can't crowd 'em.A dozen cars will be about the limit. Even with using the cattle pensfor repair pits we can't look after more than a dozen. Did I tell youHeckert had entered his Bonor?"

  "No!" we exclaimed. As far as Aggie and I were concerned, the Bonormight have been a new sort of dog.

  "Yes, and Johnson his Sampler. It's going to be some race--eh, what!"

  Jasper sauntered over that evening, possibly a late result of the cake,after all. He greeted us affably, as if his defection of the past weekhad been merely incidental, and sat down on the steps.

  "I've been thinking, Ellis," he said, "that I'd like to enter my car."

  "What!" said Ellis. "Not that--"

  "My racer. I'm not much for speed, but there's a sort of feeling in thetown that the locality ought to be represented. As I'm the only owner ofa speed car--"

  "Speed car!" said Ellis, and chuckled. "My dear boy, we've got Heckertwith his ninety-horse-power Bonor!"

  "Never heard of him." Jasper lighted a cigarette. "Anyhow, what's thatto me? I don't like to race. I've got less speed mania than any owner ofa race car you ever met. But the honor of the town seems to demand asacrifice, and I'm it."

  "You can try out for it anyhow," said Ellis. "I don't think you'll makeit; but, if you qualify, all right. But don't let any other town people,from a sense of mistaken local pride, enter a street roller or atraction engine."

  Jasper colored, but kept his temper.

  Aggie, however, spoke up indignantly. "Mr. McCutcheon's car was a veryfine racer when it was built."

  "_De mortuis nil nisi bonum_," remarked Mr. Ellis, and getting up saidgood-night.

  Jasper sat on the steps and watched him disappear. Then he turned toTish.

  "Miss Letitia," he said, "do you think you are wise to drive that racerof his the way you have been doing?"

  Aggie gave a little gasp and promptly sneezed, as she does when she isexcited.

  "I?" said Tish.

  "You!" he smiled. "Not that I don't admire your courage. I do. But theother day, now, when you lost a tire and went into the ditch--"

  "Tish!" from Aggie.

  "--you were fortunate. But when a racer turns over the results are notpleasant."

  "As a matter of fact," said Tish coldly, "it was a wheat-field, not aditch."

  Jasper got up and threw away his cigarette. "Well, our departing friendis not the only one who can quote Latin," he said. "_Verbum sap._, MissTish. Good-night, everybody. Good-night, Bettina."

  Bettina's good-night was very cool. As I went up to bed that night, Ithought Jasper's chances poor indeed. As for Tish, I endeavored to speaka few word of remonstrance to her, but she opened her Bible and began toread the lesson for the day and I was obliged to beat a retreat.

  It was that night that Aggie and I, having decided the situation wasbeyond us, wrote a letter to Charlie Sands asking him to come up. Justas I was sealing it Bettina knocked and came in. She closed the doorbehind her and stood looking at us both.

  "Where is Miss Tish?" she asked.

  "Reading her Bible," I said tartly. "When Tish is up to some mischief,she generally reads an extra chapter or two as atonement."

  "Is she--is she always like this?"

  "The trouble is," explained Aggie gently, "Miss Letitia is anenthusiast. Whatever she does, she does with all her heart."

  "I feel so responsible," said Bettina. "I try to look after her, butwhat can I do?"

  "There is only one thing to do," I assured her--"let her alone. If shewants to fly, let her fly; if she wants to race, let her race--and trustin Providence."

  "I'm afraid Providence has its hands full!" said Bettina, and went tobed.

  For the remainder of that week nothing was talked of in Morris Valleybut the approaching race. Some of Eliza Bailey's friends gave fancy-workparties for us, which Aggie and I attended. Tish refused, being nowopenly at the race-track most of the day. Morris Valley was muchexcited. Should it wear motor clothes, or should it follow the exampleof the English Derby and the French races and wear its afternoonreception dress with white kid gloves? Or--it being warm--wouldn'tlingerie clothes and sunshades be most suitable?

  Some of the gossip I retailed to Jasper, oil-streaked and greasy, in theBaileys' garage where he was working over his car.

  "Tell 'em to wear mourning," he said pessimistically. "There's always afatality or two. If there wasn't a fair chance of it nothing would make'em sit for hours watching dusty streaks going by."

  The race was scheduled for Wednesday. On Sunday night the cars began tocome in. On Monday Tish took us all, including Bettina, to the track.There were half a dozen tents in the oval, one of them marked with ahuge red cross.

  "Hospital tent," said Tish calmly. We even, on permission from Mr.Ellis, went round the track. At one spot Tish stopped the car and gotout.

  "Nail," she said briefly. "It's been a horse-racing track for years, andwe've gathered a bushel of horse-shoe nails."

  Aggie and I said nothing, but we looked at each other. Tish had said"we." Evidently Cousin Angeline's legacy was not going into a mortgage.

  The fair-grounds were almost ready. Peanut and lunch stands had sprungup everywhere. The oval, save by the tents and the repair pits, wasmarked off into parking-spaces numbered on tall banners. Groups of dirtymen in overalls, carrying machine wrenches, small boys with buckets ofwater, onlookers round the tents and track-rollers made the place lookbusy and interesting. Some of the excitement, I confess, got into myblood. Tish, on the contrary, was calm and businesslike. We were sorrywe had sent for Charlie Sands. She no longer went out in Mr. Ellis'scar, and that evening she went back to the kitchen and made a boiledsalad dressing.

  We were all deceived.

  Charlie Sands came the next morning. He was on the veranda reading apaper when we got down to breakfast. Tish's face was a study.

  "Who sent for you?" she demanded.

  "Sent for me! Why, who would send for me? I'm here to write up the race.I thought, if you haven't been out to the track, we'd go out thismorning."

  "We've been out," said Tish shortly, and we went in to breakfast. Onceor twice during the meal I caught her eye on me and on Aggie and she wasshort with us both. While she was upstairs I had a word with CharlieSands.

  "Well," he said, "what is it this time? Is she racing?"

  "Worse than that," I replied. "I think she's backing the thing!"

  "No!"

  "With her cousin Angeline's legacy." With that I told him about ourmeeting Mr. Ellis and the whole story. He listened without a word.

  "So that's the situation," I finished. "He has her hypnoti
zed, Charlie.What's more, I shouldn't be surprised to see her enter the race under anassumed name."

  Charlie Sands looked at the racing list in the Morris Valley Sun.

  "Good cars all of them," he said. "She's not here among the drivers,unless she's--Who are these drivers anyhow? I never heard of any ofthem."

  "It's a small race," I suggested. "I dare say the big men--"

  "Perhaps." He put away his paper and got up. "I'll just wander round thetown for an hour or two, Aunt Lizzie," he said. "I believe there's anigger in this woodpile and I'm a right nifty little nigger-chaser."

  When he came back about noon, however, he looked puzzled. I drew himaside.

  "It seems on the level," he said. "It's so darned open it makes mesuspicious. But she's back of it all right. I got her bank on thelong-distance 'phone."

  We spent that afternoon at the track, with the different cars doing whatI think they called "trying out heats." It appeared that a car, toqualify, must do a certain distance in a certain time. It grewmonotonous after a while. All but one entry qualified and Jasper justmade it. The best showing was made by the Bonor car, according toCharlie Sands.

  Jasper came to our machine when it was over, smiling without anyparticular good cheer.

  "I've made it and that's all," he said. "I've got about as much chanceas a watermelon at a colored picnic. I'm being slaughtered to make aRoman holiday."

  "If you feel that way why do you do it?" demanded Bettina coldly. "Ifyou go in expecting to slaughtered--"

  He was leaning on the side of the car and looked up at her with eyesthat 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 lipsshut tight and was blinking hard. I wished that Jasper had looked back.