Dr. Owen Smith sat behind his desk staring at the young man across from him. He was unhappy with his own performance in the case of Avis Warwick and knew that it was irrational to let his temper escape. It was also useless to blame Peter Winslow, for Smith had become well aware that young Winslow blamed himself far more than anyone else could. Smith had not been particularly interested in the racing of automobiles, which he considered a stupid risk and a senseless waste of time, but he was interested in people. Now he was concerned not only for Avis Warwick’s condition, but also for young Winslow. He knew he needed to be blunt with him, but he wasn’t sure how to begin. “I can’t offer you very much hope, Mr. Winslow,” Smith finally said. He noticed his own nervous action in drumming the table and with some irritation pulled his hand back and interlaced his fingers. He eyed the tall young man across from him, then said abruptly, “You’re not going to do yourself any good carrying on as you have been.”
