"I ain't denying anything," snapped Rupert, scowling after the departing car as it leaped for the open track like an animal unleashed.
That first afternoon's trial of the Mercury Titan proved it much faster than either the track or road would stand. Also, Corrie Rose was proved fully capable of handling his wheeled projectile. When he came in, at dusk, the testers regarded him with unconcealed respect; there was genuine admiration mingled with the congratulations offered him by the car's designers. He had become, after Gerard, the most conspicuous man in the great automobile plant.
Devlin crawled out of his seat and complained of nausea.
On the third day of practice, when Corrie brought the car back to the factory at noon, Rupert suddenly walked up to him and broke the silence of months.
"What's the matter with your fifth cylinder?" he demanded.
Amazed, Corrie slipped off his mask and turned his fatigued face to the questioner.
"I couldn't help it," he deprecated, quite humbly. "Devlin was too busy holding on to do much, and I was driving."
Rupert darted a glance of blighting contempt at the sullen Devlin, and walked away.