The door was closed and the little party wandered back through the grove to the house. Tippoo, in the kitchen, was busily at work getting a meal ready.
"This," observed Mr. Lawton, as they all seated themselves on a bench in the shade, "is one of the happiest, as well as the saddest, days of my life. I have discovered what Dick really is, and that's where the bright part comes in; but I have also found out that my sister's son is a contemptible scoundrel—and I would rather have lost everything I own than to have discovered it. This racing-game must be demoralizing."
"It isn't the game, Mr. Lawton," interposed Matt earnestly, "but the character of the fellows who take it up. There isn't a thing in a speed contest to demoralize any one."
"You may be right, Matt," answered Mr. Lawton, "but it's hard to understand how Ralph could prove so false to all the Lawton ideals. His father was a gentleman in every sense of the word; and his mother—there was never a finer woman on earth."
After a short silence, Mr. Lawton turned once more to Matt.
"You are going to Santa Fé?" he queried.
"Yes," replied Matt, "and then to Denver. Mr. Tomlinson, who owns the Red Flier, has a place for me on the racing-staff of a firm of automobile-makers."
"Ah! I would have spoken differently a moment ago, if I had known that you intended entering the racing-field. You'll never go wrong. But, when you get to Denver, beware of the rascally crew who just left here. They are very bitter against you."
"They'll not bother me, sir," said Matt stoutly.
"Oof dey dry it on," spoke up Carl, "py chincher dey vill ged somet'ing vat dey don'd like."