Terry Temple, her
errand done in Red Creek, was racing homeward.
"And I'll beat Blenham to it yet!" cried Steve.
Where the moonlight streamed brightest and whitest across the road he
sprang out so that she could not fail to see him, tossing up both arms
in signal to her to stop. Her headlights blinded him one moment; he
heard the warning blast of her horn; he entertained briefly the
suspicion that she was going to refuse to stop.
Incredible--and yet he had not thought of her own likely emotions. To
have a man leap out into the road in front of her, all unexpectedly,
waving his arms and calling on her to stop-- Why, she'd think herself
fallen into the hands of a highwayman!
She was coming on, straight on, her horn emitting one long, sustained
shriek of menace. Packard ground his teeth; either she did not
recognize him and was bound upon getting by him, or she did recognize
him and was accepting her opportunity to emphasize her attitude toward
him.
In any case she was going by, she in whom lay his sole hope to come to
grips with Blenham. If he let her evade he might as well quit, quit in
utter disgust with the world.
With the world? Disgust with himself, that he had let Blenham beat
him, that he wasn't much of a man, that his old grandfather was right
about him. Her car was rushing down upon him; if he let it pass, why,
he'd be letting, not only a girl laugh at him, but he'd be letting his
chance rush by him.
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