"Why didn't you stop where King halted his car?" he demanded wrathfully.
"I wanted to get away from the crowd," was Sercomb's sullen response.
"Well, I don't blame you for that," said Plympton sarcastically. "The people probably would have done anything but congratulate you. Sercomb, what did you mean by making that attempt on King?"
"I meant to knock him out of the car, if I could!" was the savage response.
"Is that the kind of sportsman you are?" queried Plympton, a gleam rising in his eyes.
He was just beginning to understand what kind of a driver Sercomb was. He was getting an insight into his character which he had never had before. The revelation was disagreeable, to say the least. Plympton himself was a man of high principle, and had no patience with trickery or deceit.
"I've put up with all I'm going to from King," growled Sercomb. "He's dogged me about and is doing everything he can to ruin me."
"I've learned something about that, too," went on Plympton, his voice hard and keen. "Tomlinson told me of that affair down in New Mexico, but I took your side. I couldn't believe it possible that you would act in the way you were said to have done. Now, however, I have had proof that you are a contemptible cur, and that King is a gentleman."
"Oh, yes," sneered Sercomb, "King has a way of making everybody think he's all to the good. I don't wonder that he's pulled the wool over your eyes."
"Look here," went on the colonel impatiently, "if it hadn't been for King, you'd be in jail this minute. An officer was waiting at the track-side to arrest you and take you out of the race. When King got here, he told Trueman to have the officer keep his hands off. That's the kind of work that makes me take stock in a young man. For King's magnanimity in letting you into the race he came near to being seriously wounded, perhaps killed. What do you say to that?"