changes had been made in its construction.

In Indianapolis, before the running of the Five Hundred Mile Race, there was one driver who tested his car a thousand miles before race day. He had to. He wasn't sure how a machine of its construction would last on the banked surface and swinging turns of the Speedway. Patiently he drove on mile after mile searching for some defect. Finally two days before the race he directed the factory to tilt the car's front axle.

One day when the late Bruce-Brown was practicing for the Grand Prize at

JOE DAWSON

"The Kid" who won the Indianapolis Sweepstake Race: of 1912.

RALPH DE PALMA The "Speed King" of 1912.

Savannah, he drew up before the repair pits and ordered his attendants to change the position of his extra tires. These "shoes" were hung on the car in such a way as to be awkward to reach. BruceBrown had had to make a tire change on the road and it had taken three seconds too many. Realizing that were the reserve tires to be hung more conveniently these seconds could be saved, BruceBrown ordered the change. And, when you consider that he subsequently won the Grand Prize by scant seconds, you realize how much that little detail meant to him.

When Dawson was preparing his car for the Speedway Race, he had to figure just how many revolutions a minute his motor could reasonably expect to hold up and turn over for the five hundred miles.

He found that two thousand revolutions a minute was the maximum without straining the engine. This meant ninety miles an hour. Also, by long testing, by returning the car to the factory, by ordering one change after another, Dawson was able to fix the gears so that upon coming out of a turn after "shutting off," his car picked up speed rapidly. Dawson also practiced quick starts. He found that if the car's wheel base was shortened he could take a certain turn at eightyfive miles an hour. He learned how to save his tires on the sharp bend near the grandstand. At first his tires would last only fifty miles but gradually by studying and changing things he almost doubled that mileage.

Often, the regular drivers do not handle the cars on these testing trips. Factory mechanicians, who have been called "motor broncho busters", put the cars through their paces. Over the roughest roads they go, uncovering the more obvious defects before the race drivers come. But when everything has been approved and the cars are transported to the race course, another test begins. The machines come from the factories attended by a large retinue of skilled mechanics and helpers. With them is an extensive equipment.

For example, when a certain automobile company was conducting a big racing campaign, four cases built like

who astonished all motordom by winning the Vanderbilt Cup for a second time, was one of the most conspicuous figures there. figures there. Grant always had a fine ear for defects. It was interesting to watch him listening for faults in the working of the mechanism. He would, for example, announce that "the exhaust of the fourth cylinder has not lift enough." One of the mechanics would then stop the engine, and remove the valve. Grant's diagnosis would be proved correct. Again he would listen. This time he would perhaps find "a lack of compression in the second cylinder". Again the engine would be examined; again Grant would be pronounced correct. And so he would seek out each weakness with his ear. When Vanderbilt Cup day came, Grant got the last ounce out of his car and won. Before the race, it is calculated by the managers of each company represented what average speed will be enough to win. Sometimes this average is changed as the race changes. Perhaps the man who is figured upon to break down early manages to stay in the race. Then the average must be raised. Otherwise it would create too great a risk, letting this opponent get too long a lead.

These cases

smallest nut or cotter pin. were taken down into the pit during a race, and whenever a car needed repairing, it was done quickly.

Also, with the automobile's team was a physician. He had a medicine chest containing first aid appliances, eye lotions, and stimulants. In one race, the track became so dusty that whenever Chevrolet stopped at the pits, his eyes had to be bathed. During a twenty-fourhour race when hands and arms swell under the terrific strain of holding the wheel, Chevrolet and Burman stopped time and time again while a masseur treated their muscles to reduce the swelling. One driver was forbidden by the physician to remain longer at the wheel.

The old Vanderbilt Cup course on Long Island has been the scene of many exacting and exciting try-outs. Grant,

Just before the Brighton Beach Race a few years ago, one company figured that 1,200 miles would surely win. The drivers were told to make this mileage. This meant that the men had to average fifty miles an hour for an entire day. The drivers were warned not to worry over what any other competitors might do. They had only to make sure that they held their own schedule. Other drivers overtaxed their cars and estab

lished long leads. With the race threequarters done an opposing car led by 100 miles. But that didn't bother the forces of this particular concern. Their drivers held rigidly to schedule. Eventually they caught and passed the leaders and finished with a total of 1,196 miles-just four miles out of the way for twentyfour hours' driving, which is pretty close figuring.

Just as precise is the work in the pits when a race is on. These trenches the size of a room and as high as a man's shoulders, are dug beside the track and front the grandstands at the finish line. In them are stored extra tires, parts of machines, gasoline and oil tanks, all the supplies and instruments for aiding a car during the race. As soon as a car slackens speed approaching the pit, the mechanician yells what is wanted.

During the Savannah Races, Mulford stopped to change a rear tire. In less than one minute the old tire was removed, the new one slipped on, and the gasoline and oil tanks filled-an astonishing pit achievement.

This speed was possible because in the pits there were five-gallon funnels containing gasoline and oil. As soon as the car stopped, the wheel was jacked up and the bursted tire pulled off, while Mulford and his helpers poured oil and gasoline into the tanks.

These stops simply eat up time.

For

instance, in one twenty-four-hour race fifty stops were made to change tires and replenish fuel. Although about two hours and twenty minutes were lost in this way the car won.

Drivers dread these delays and are loath to pull up at the pits unless forced to. Often, too, it is impossible for them to see that a stop should be made.

On the blackboard there may appear suddenly the cabalistic letters, "F-R-C". This means that the front right tire must be changed at once. A pitman has noticed that the tire is flat. There are about one hundred such signals. They warn a driver if he is getting reckless; they tell him the position of his own and of other cars; they tell him to look out for some other driver who has become reckless. They tell the mechanician how to do his. work better. Generally the signals are painted with a white substance that washes off easily. The mechanician who rides with the driver is supposed to watch the blackboard. Often he has a duplicate code made and pasted on the gasoline tank, so that he can quickly translate any message.

As was shown in the case of Dawson, his company had two signal stations, one advantage which we have seen. Here is another:

As Dawson passed the grandstand early in the race, it was noticed that a tire needed replacing. Dawson was gone

before they could signal him. So they telephoned across the field, and the tent station ordered him to stop on his next time around.

You might say that the entire race depended upon these men in the pits. That's why drivers appear beside themselves when a car stops at the grandstand. People wonder at their actions, their impatience, the expression on their faces. I

have seen one driver behave almost like a maniac when his car stopped at the pits. I have seen him leap down, punching and kicking at the mechanicians.

been costly, for Robertson was the type of driver to whom the dust of an opposing car was infuriating. Once ousted from the lead he became utterly reckless. He took the most unheard-of chances, risked his life without thinking of it, overtaxed his car, never resting until he had drawn 'even.

And Robertson knowing that tendency

in himself was always careful never to drop behind, never to let his pitmen fritter away the seconds that meant so much to him, the seconds that the public is too excited to count, but that lose races -as Mulford lost in a heartbreaking finish where five seconds separated the cars.

He has cursed them, cuffed them, scolded them, seemingly beside himself. And all because they were a little slow in filling the gasoline tank. But the driver knew just how precious those seconds were.

Holding the lead by scarcely more than two minutes, Robertson in the Lowell Cup Race a few years ago finally had to stop. There had to be a quick tire change. If his men took too long doing it, Grant would gain the lead. So Robertson with his face blackened by oil and dust jumped down among the pitmen, egged them on with sarcastic phrases, angered them until they wanted to show him just what competent mechanicians they really were. So they changed a tire with incredible speed and Robertson drove away still in the lead.

He was ahead only a few seconds, but he was ahead. To be behind might have

It was toward the finish of the Fairmount Park Race in 1910. Ralph Mulford and Len Zengle were in the lead. It was either man's race. With one lap to go, Mulford led by 19 seconds. It happened that both cars had to stop and replace burst tires. Zengle's pitmen were quicker. They made the change in 1 minute and 10 seconds. Mulford's corps took 1 minute and 34 seconds. Now 1 minute and 10 seconds, subtracted from 1 minute and 34 seconds, leaves 24 seconds. Before the tire change Mulford led by 19 seconds. Well, 19 seconds from 24 seconds, gives 5 seconds, which was Zengle's margin in winning the Fairmount Park Race-a finish in which the public thought Mulford had been outdriven.

F

OR years the people of New Jersey have been talking, just as the people of other States have been talking, of employing convicts on road work. Talking, you understand; that's all.

Well, when the new Commissioner of Public Roads got settled down in his office he did not talk about employing convicts; he just told the warden of the penitentiary that he wanted some. The warden raised numerous objections, not the least of which was a perfectly proper refusal to be responsible for prisoners taken outside the walls. Besides, he said, there was no money to pay for guards or other expenses. Thereupon, the Commissioner of Public Roads dug down into his own jeans for part of the money needed, and then telephoned half

a dozen friends he would thank them for contributions of so much apiece by the next mail. He slashed through all the red tape in his way, and in a remarkably short time sixteen convicts lined up on the White House Road, between Trenton and Allentown. To them the situation was explained substantially in this wise:

"Now, boys, you are out in the open with agreeable work to do amid pleasant surroundings. The moment one of you attempts to escape, back you all go to the pen. Not merely the one who tries to bolt, but all of you. Now get busy."

And did they get busy? Well, you should have seen them! The experiment was such a brilliant success that arrangements have been made for employing two hundred and fifty convicts on the