“It was number forty-one, wasn’t it?” demanded the chauffeur of thirty-seven, and he seemed very angry.
“Yes.”
“Well, we’re going to report that car. It ought to be barred out of the race,” sputtered the man.
“What’s that?” gasped Dan, while Billy looked, open-mouthed, at the angry automobilist.
“I tell you, it ought to be barred out,” cried the stranger, and his companion agreed with a vigorous nod. “They come pretty near taking a wheel off of us. Look at that scratch along the side of our car; will you?”
“I see it,” admitted Dan, vastly puzzled.
“That maroon car did it,” cried the man. “It ought to be——”
“But say!” blurted out Billy. “That was Mr. Briggs’ car—Mr. Briggs who started this endurance test—the man who offers the gold cup!”
“Mr. Raleigh Briggs!” cried the angry man.
“That’s the number of his car—forty-one,” Dan interposed, quickly.