She was already running on third speed, and the motor was taking about all the gasolene it could use. She adjusted the spark to give the best service, and now, as an additional means of inducing speed, she cut out the muffler. The explosions of the motor played a tattoo on the dusty road.
"I'm going to turn here!" cried Cora as she swung around a corner.
"Look out!"
Paul needed no warning, for he was an expert autoist. The machine skidded a bit and tilted somewhat, but was soon flying down the straight, level stretch.
"I cannot understand why Sid Wilcox wants to run in a cross-country race—and for nothing," said Cora.
"Because he knows I want the place. He hates me and wants to make trouble for me."
"Is that so? Then we have a double reason for beating him. And I think we'll do it. His train has to wait for the accommodation to pass it at the junction. We'll gain on him there."
"That's so."
"What time is it now?" Cora asked as, with hands firmly gripping the wheel, she leaned forward to peer down the road. She could neither see nor hear the train now.
"It's nine-fifty-five," replied the chauffeur. "The train is due at
New City at ten-fifteen."
"Twenty minutes yet. I'm sure we can make it."