“All right,” answered Red—and wouldn’t have admitted for a farm that he was disappointed. “As for Tom’s car—it’s a whale,” he added, “and can show my old Faithful the dust any time. Good-night, then!”
Whichever was the better car, certain it was that Black, in Tom’s, had his first sensation of tremendous speed during the hour which followed. The boy was excited by the events of the evening, he was a skillful and daring driver, and he was conscious of being able to give an older man a perfectly new experience. Black had frankly told him that he had never before taken a night drive in a powerful roadster, with the speed limit whatever the driver chose to make it. Under this stimulus Tom chose to make it pretty nearly the extreme of his expensive motor’s power. The result was that very soon the minister’s hat was in his hand, and his close-cut black hair taking the stiff breeze, like Tom’s, as the car gathered herself afresh to fly down each new stretch of clear road.
“Like it?” shouted Tom, suddenly, as he slowed down for a sharp curve.
“It’s great!”
“Don’t mind how fast we go?”
“Not while I trust you—as I do.”
“You do trust me, eh?” The boy’s voice was exultant.
“To the limit.”
“Why do you?”
“Because you know my life is in your hands. You wouldn’t risk cutting it short.”