“It’s a turtle race,” he said without apparent emotion. “Two turtles. The question is, which will tire first?”
“We’ll run out of gas,” Florence murmured.
“Something like that.”
“And be stuck out here for the night.” Florence thought this, but did not say it. The moon would be out in an hour. And then—
Slowly but doggedly the Dodge-Em pushed its stout rubber nose through the black water. The Chinaman, a dark spot above the water, was ever before them. They did not lose. They did not gain. They only followed on.
“I’ve been told that a man crossed the lake in one of these,” Erik rumbled. “Safe enough, I guess. Anyway, when you’ve lived in China you get used to any mode of travel.”
Florence wondered if they would cross the lake. “And after that?” she whispered to herself. The rumble of the city was dying away in the distance, the lights of the Fair were growing dim. It was strange to be out here in the night with one she had known for so short a time. And yet this was the turn chance had taken.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes. It had been a long day. The night air sweeping in from the lake fanned her cheek. The darkness had been kind to her tired eyes. Now she felt the need for rest.
Did she fall asleep? Perhaps. Perhaps not. All she knew was that when she opened her eyes at last she became conscious of a change. “Wha—what is it?”
“Motor stopped. We lose,” Erik grumbled. “We lose.”