“Sure, any place. Only take it easy,” I pleaded. “I’m not used to high speeds.”
George laughed and engaged the gears. He drove at quite a reasonable speed. He wanted to know the fullest details about my trip to Washington, and so insistent was he that I suspected he was anxious not to talk about himself until we had settled down from our sudden meeting.
We got a quiet table at Max’s, which was not overcrowded, and ordered a light meal. I asked him what he would drink, but he shook his head. “I’ve given it up,” he said. “It wanted a lot of doing, but in my game it just doesn’t pay.”
I ordered a bottle of light wine for myself. “You certainly have jumped into fame, George,” I said. “What on earth made you take up racing so seriously?”
He looked at me in an odd way. “Why shouldn’t I? You know how keen I am on speed.”
“I know, but I didn’t think you were as keen as all that. After all, if you do want a burst of speed now and then you have the Bugatti. Frankly, I think you are taking the most damnable risks. You scared the life out of me this afternoon.”
George nodded. “You’re a wise old guy. There is a reason, and a very good reason too.”
“It must be,” I said. “I’ve never seen, nor do I hope ever to see again, such mad driving in all my life. Do you honestly mean to tell me that you have been doing this for the last six months?”
“It is very difficult for me. I’ve got nothing on these professionals in the way of tricks—and, believe me, there are plenty of tricks in this game. In order to win I just keep going as fast as I can and that’s my one ace.”
I couldn’t understand this at all. “Surely it isn’t so important to win as all that,” I said, frowning. “I mean, you don’t strike me as a person who must win at everything, and it is not as if you can’t afford to lose sometimes.”