"Say, young feller!" cried Burton, standing up in the runabout and addressing the lad from the motor-car works.
The latter was pulling his motor cycle out of the bushes and making ready to forge away on the rest of his "century" run.
"Well?" returned the youth, one leg over the saddle and ready to pedal off.
"Load that machine into the runabout and drive this rig back to the show grounds for me, will you?" requested Burton. "I'm hungry to see this game through, and I can't leave the horse hitched in the road."
"Couldn't get the motor cycle into the buggy," was the answer. "Anyhow, I guess I've helped you about as much as you could reasonably expect."
"There's twenty coming to you," went on Burton. "Take the rig back and I'll make it thirty."
"There's nothing coming to me. I told Motor Matt he could use the machine, and welcome. Now that he's done with it, I'll go on with my run."
The motor began to pop, and presently settled into a steady hum. A minute later the motor cycle and its rider were out of sight.
Just then, when it looked as though Burton was to be permanently retired from the rest of the pursuit, a street car from the lake rattled to a halt, and Carl and Twomley dropped from the steps.
"Here's the Englishman," muttered McGlory, without much enthusiasm.