Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XII: DECEMBER CHRISTOPHER AND THE CHAUFFEUSE CHRISTOPHER and his uncle had just been to look at the cars that were to start next day in the great "freak race," as the coming event was popularly called, and for which Scarlet Runner was already entered--at the important relative's request. The Royal Automobile Club, under whose auspices the race was to be run, had taken temporarily a big new garage to house the competitors, and ever since early morning, when the cars had begun to assemble and to put themselves on view, devotees of motoring had been pouring in and out. Everyone was interested, for not only was a well-known millionaire offering a ten-thousand pound prize and several cups for the encouragement of originality among inventors, but most of the motors themselves were worth seeing. As for the old man who held Christopher Race's destiny in his hand, as the driver of a car holds his steering-wheel, he was interested for several reasons, though his interest had come as a surprise to Christopher. Now he was talking excitedly as they walked together into the big white and red and gold restaurant near the garage, which for the last day or two had been practically given over to the motoring world, and where he was to be his nephew's guest at luncheon. "Well, Chris," he said, as they sat down at the table Christopher had engaged, "you win that first prize and there's nothing of mine you can't have now or in future, though there was one of my wishes which you refused to carry out. It isn't so much the prize money I'm keen on for you, though it would be a tidy little sum to add to the allowance I mean to make you again, until I'm gone and you come into the lot." Christopher laughed. "Aren't you giving yourself away a bit, uncle? You weren't going to let me ...
Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XII: DECEMBER CHRISTOPHER AND THE CHAUFFEUSE CHRISTOPHER and his uncle had just been to look at the cars that were to start next day in the great "freak race," as the coming event was popularly called, and for which Scarlet Runner was already entered--at the important relative's request. The Royal Automobile Club, under whose auspices the race was to be run, had taken temporarily a big new garage to house the competitors, and ever since early morning, when the cars had begun to assemble and to put themselves on view, devotees of motoring had been pouring in and out. Everyone was interested, for not only was a well-known millionaire offering a ten-thousand pound prize and several cups for the encouragement of originality among inventors, but most of the motors themselves were worth seeing. As for the old man who held Christopher Race's destiny in his hand, as the driver of a car holds his steering-wheel, he was interested for several reasons, though his interest had come as a surprise to Christopher. Now he was talking excitedly as they walked together into the big white and red and gold restaurant near the garage, which for the last day or two had been practically given over to the motoring world, and where he was to be his nephew's guest at luncheon. "Well, Chris," he said, as they sat down at the table Christopher had engaged, "you win that first prize and there's nothing of mine you can't have now or in future, though there was one of my wishes which you refused to carry out. It isn't so much the prize money I'm keen on for you, though it would be a tidy little sum to add to the allowance I mean to make you again, until I'm gone and you come into the lot." Christopher laughed. "Aren't you giving yourself away a bit, uncle? You weren't going to let me ...