"Just dropped by to make sure you were in the race," Pete said.
"Sure, I'm in the race," said Woody, nettled. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Oh, nothing," said Pete. "I saw that Rocky had some trouble and thought it might keep you out of it." He was quite cool, almost insolently so.
"Just a flat tire," said Woody.
"Ah," said Pete. "Well, lucky it wasn't a front wheel. You can lose control real fast with a front-wheel blowout. See you down there. I'm in ninety-nine—the green TF." He pointed to his car, which was three pit places away. Then he sauntered off. Woody fancied that he was smiling slightly.
"Just trying to throw a scare into me," he said to himself. "Front-wheel blowout! Bet they don't get one of them in a million races." Nonetheless, he went around and inspected the tread on his front tires. It looked good. The left-hand one was a little more worn than the right. But not very much.
"Both tiptop tires," he said to himself. But he wished the left-hand tire didn't show as much wear as it did. Probably the front end was a little out of line. That would account for it. He tried to think of something else.
When Rocky and Steve came back, Woody was looking very solemn.
"You feeling all right?" Rocky asked.
"Sure," said Woody, "raring to go." But actually he felt just like Tom Wisdom did before a race. He wished he was somewhere else.