"Lots of safety features on automobiles today were developed out of experience gained in road racing," she continued. "Four-wheel brakes are one of them. So are rear-vision mirrors and better tires. More people are driving with safety belts on long trips, and that's saving a lot of lives. In the early days of racing, Daddy told me, fly-wheels used to explode and kill drivers. But who ever heard of a flywheel exploding these days? Racing drivers showed how to make better ones. Every time there's an accident on a track, people say that road racing should be banned or that a particular car is a killer. But the automobile industry would not be where it is today if it wasn't for road racing."
Still Woody said nothing. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach because he knew what was coming. The palms of his hands felt moist, and he could feel his heart beating faster. He tried to temporize.
"Why was Randy so interested in the Black Tiger?" he asked.
"Because he said it was way ahead of any other racing car yet designed," Rocky replied. "The factory is planning to put out a small family car based on the Black Tiger engine. It would give about fifty miles to a gallon of gas, could be driven in any climate because the engine is air-cooled. That means no radiator to overheat in summer or freeze in winter. And it would sell for less than a thousand dollars. But all that depends on the Black Tiger being shown to be an efficient engine and chassis design.
"Daddy never said anything to me about it. But I found out through his will that he had put all his savings into the project. He believed in the Black Tiger that much. He used to say he'd spent all his life looking for a perfect automobile and had found it in the Black Tiger. Now his life's work will be wrecked unless we can find someone to drive the Tiger." She looked across at Woody, hesitated, and then said.
"Daddy was very fond of you. He told me that you'd make a great racing driver someday. He said you had a natural flair for it, and the sort of courage that it takes. Woody, I hate to ask you, knowing the reputation the Black Tiger has. I'm only asking because so much of Randy's hopes were tied up in the car. Will you race it—not for me but for him? For all he did for automobile racing and design?"
Woody had his answer ready, but he couldn't get it out. It seemed to him that Randy was nearby and hanging on his answer. He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that he, too, believed the Black Tiger was a man-killer. He wanted to break down and confess that he was scared to death every time he raced a car and that fear, heavy as a shroud, clung to him through every moment of a race. But he could not get the words out of his mouth.
"I'll have to think about it, Rocky," he said feebly.
Rocky brightened immediately. "Woody," she exclaimed, "you're wonderful." And she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
"I haven't said yes," Woody said hurriedly.