"Well, the bill should come up at four o'clock."
"Well, that's what I based my calculation upon. You see, it's after three o'clock now."
Barry, who had been listening to the conversation, now spoke:
"I think, Mr. Burns," he said, "that Mr. Carlton will keep the votes back until some time after four o'clock."
"Good," cried the young man, "every minute saved in that way is a minute gained."
"Sure," responded Conway, recovering his hopeful manner at once, "and if Danny could gain a few minutes more with this old tin can of a motor car, we'd come mighty near winning the race."
Danny's answer was characteristic of that spoiled darling of fortune. He pulled the lever back one or two notches and the machine shot ahead as though it were possessed of a thousand furies, each one urging the other on to greater excesses. The shock threw Conway against the cushions and made him shake his fist at his friend in pretended anger. As for Barry, the sudden rush of the machine fairly took his breath away.
They were out in the open country now on a great waste of level land where speed laws could be ignored with impunity. They soon went so swiftly that intelligible conversation was out of the question. The young page boy was enjoying it to the fullest. There was something exhilarating about it that made him close his eyes and breathe a long-drawn sigh of utter contentment. He was perfectly satisfied to remain quiet and drink in the joys of this wonderful ride.