"Anything else?" said the other.
"Nae," Worm replied.
The stranger looked at him in silence for a minute. There seemed to be some understanding between the two of them that Woody could not fathom.
"Like you tae meet me friends," Worm said, catching sight of them and breaking the awkward silence. "Woody Hartford and Steve Phillips. Meet Captain Jim Randolph."
"Randy for short," said the stranger, holding out his hand. Randy was one of the smallest men Woody had ever met. He was slim, fair-haired, and almost boyish in appearance. There were wrinkles of humor around his blue eyes, and he sported a mustache that would have done credit to a guardsman. Woody guessed that he was British—either Canadian or English.
"You the same Captain Randolph that drove with the Morgan team in the last Le Mans?" asked Steve.
"That's me," said Randy.
"Boy, you must have got a kick out of that," said Steve.
Randy nodded. "It was a lot of fun," he said quietly.
"What are ye driving noo?" asked Worm. Randy's whole face brightened.