Betsy said, “Will you take me for a ride in your Stanley Steamer, Lars?”

Jill turned away and walked back to the table, where she put a great deal of meaning into the way she sat down.

Lars didn’t notice. He continued eagerly to Betsy, “Nobody knows how fast the Stanley Steamer can go, ’cause as long as you hold the throttle open, it just keeps on accelerating. In 1906 it set the world land speed record of a hundred and twenty-seven miles an hour. There’s a picture of it in this guy’s book of the special chassis they put on it, like a canoe. In 1907 they tried again-it was on Daytona Beach in Florida -and this time, at over a hundred and fifty, it hit a bump and the air got under it, and it actually took off, like an airplane!” Lars’s hand described a shallow arc. “Of course, it crashed after a few dozen yards, but just think, over hundred and fifty, and that still wasn’t its top speed!”

“In 1907? That’s amazing!”

Lars continued, “Most cars back then could manage about twenty-five miles an hour going downhill with a tail wind, so it isn’t amazing, it’s fantastic! I wonder if my car can go that fast.” His blue eyes turned dreamy.

“But then it crashed,” murmured Jill, bowing her head. “Lord, help us not to forget that little part, amen.”

Several other members of the Monday Bunch snickered softly.

Lars, aware at last that he had lost Jill, went to her to show her the color photo again. He said in a wheedling voice, “Just look at it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Look at the shape, so beautiful and old and classy.