ing everything within sight. Mr. Sharp, in his excitement, was pushing on the back of the front seats as if to shove the car ahead.
Then, as the pistol announced the close of the race, Tom's car, with what seemed a mighty leap, like a hunter clearing a ditch, forged ahead, and crossed the line a length in advance of the red car. Tom Swift had won.
Amid the cheers of the crowd the lad slowed up, and, at the direction of the judges, wheeled back to the stand, to receive the prize. A certified check for three thousand dollars was handed him, and he received the congratulations of the racing officials. The driver of the red car also generously praised him.
"You won fair and square," he said, shaking hands with Tom.
The young inventor and his friends drove their car to their shed. As Tom was descending, weary and begrimed with dust he heard a voice asking:
"Mayn't I congratulate you also?"
He wheeled around, to confront Mary Nestor, immaculate in a summer gown.
"Why—why," he stammered. "I—I thought you didn't come."
"Oh, yes I did," she answered, laughing. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything. I arrived
