One of the front tires hit the broken glass and instantly there came a sharp "pop." The runabout slewed around and the driver cut off the power and put on the brakes just in the nick of time to avoid a bad accident.
The Red Flier glided onward, leaping away from its defeated rival like a glittering streak.
Tomlinson, overcome with the tension of the struggle, collapsed in his seat with a breathless, "By gad."
"King," exulted Gregory, "you're the best ever!"
"Hoop-a-la!" gloried Carl, in a frenzy of delight. "Meppy Modor Matt ditn't do somet'ing dot time! Oh, I bed you! Be jeerful, eferypody, be jeerful! Modor Matt has safed der tay und von a t'ousand tollars. Yah, yah, yah!" and Carl flopped to an about face and shook his clenched fist at the car behind, now almost out of sight.
"Wonderful!" cried Tomlinson. "King, how did you ever manage to think of that?"
"How does he efer manage to t'ink oof eferyt'ing, hey?" asked Carl. "He has his headt mit him all der time. Dot's vy he cuts so mooch ice verefer he goes! Oh, he vas a pully-poy, you bed my life!"
"Well," said Tomlinson, "I'll not forget this."
"There's Ash Fork," spoke up Pringle suddenly, pointing to the right. "Just across the railroad-track there's a road leading down to the place. I guess you better stop here and let me out."