"What business is that of yours, Dave Porter?" questioned the dudish youth, quickly.
"You came pretty close to running us down. You were speeding altogether too fast."
"Ho! ho! We scared you, did we?" returned Nat. "Sorry for the girls, I'm sure," and his face took on a mean little grin.
"What are you finding fault about, Dave Porter?" demanded Pete Barnaby, the owner of the racing car, coming closer. His nose was very red, and his breath smelt strongly of liquor.
"I am finding fault with the way your car was run, if you want to know it," answered Dave, stoutly.
"We are not asking you for advice."
"Perhaps not, but if you try any such trick again, Pete Barnaby, you may get yourself into trouble."
"You were exceeding the speed limit," put in Roger.
"And you came close to running us down," added Ben.
"Oh, you boys are a timid bunch," grumbled the owner of the racing car. "I didn't come within ten feet of touching you."