She could plough
through a quicksand if she had to, not to mention spring mud to the
hubs."
"The car seems powerful," said the old man, smiling behind his upturned
fur collar. "I suppose a young fellow like you wouldn't be content with
anything that couldn't pull at least ten times as heavy a load as it
needed to."
"I suppose not," laughed Richard. "Though it's not so much a question of
a heavy load as of plenty of power when you want it, and of speed--all
the time. Suppose we were being chased by wild Indians right now,
grandfather. Wouldn't it be a satisfaction to walk away from them
like--this?"
The car shot ahead with a long, lithe spring, as if she had been using
only a fraction of her power, and had reserves greater than could be
reckoned. Her gait increased as she flew down the long straightaway
ahead until her speedometer on the dash recorded a pace with which the
fastest locomotive on the track which ran parallel with the road would
have had to race with wide-open throttle to keep neck to neck. Richard
had not meant to treat his grandfather to an exhibition of this sort,
being well aware of the older man's distaste for modern high speed, but
the sight of the place where he was in the habit of racing with any
passing train was too much for his young blood and love of swift flight,
and he had covered the full two-mile stretch before he could bring
himself to slow down to a more moderate gait.
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