In the early days of the industry, motor-racing was a sport. Now it is rapidly being reduced to a business. "Win at any cost," are the instructions a firm gives its drivers. If a driver makes a mistake he is condemned for all time, and the reputation of his employers suffers in the estimation of the public. For this reason the rule of winning at any cost is carried out strictly.
Colonel Plympton was secretary of the Stark-Frisbie Company, and had entire charge of its racing affairs. Mr. Tomlinson was an intimate friend of the colonel's, and had engaged to secure Matt a position with his firm. Matt, however, had never dreamed that Colonel Plympton would be so eager to secure a new driver that he would call at the hotel.
Presently the colonel entered the room. In appearance he was a good deal of a disappointment to Matt, for he was somewhat slouchy and a little bit shabby. Nevertheless, he had abundant dignity and an air of large importance.
"Mr. King?" queried the colonel, stretching out his hand toward Carl.
"Vell," chuckled Carl, "nood so you can nodice it. I peen Modor Matt's pard. Here iss der main vorks," and he waved a hand toward Matt.
"Howdy?" inquired the colonel, shaking Matt's hand. "Tomlinson told me about you not more than an hour ago. If ever the Stark-Frisbie Company needed drivers of nerve and skill, they need them now. The race for the Borden cup is only two weeks away, and we have only two drivers to qualify for it, while in such a contest it is our invariable rule to have at least three entries. One of our best men smashed up his car in the East and has just come out of the hospital. That eliminates him. After a close call like that, no driver ever keeps his nerve—he's a dead one so far as racing is concerned."
The colonel had seated himself comfortably and drawn a fat cigar from a vest pocket. He paused to light it, his eyes glimmering at Matt through the smoke.
"I've never had an accident that made me lose my nerve, Colonel Plympton," said Matt.
"Egad, I guess that's right," chuckled the colonel. "Tomlinson has told me all about you, and I think you'll drop into our racing schedules like a top. Anyhow, we're willing to start you off in the Borden cup race, providing we can make a deal with you. We don't pay our racing drivers any salaries. Whenever there's an important race, we pay the entrance fee, running from five hundred to two thousand dollars, and we furnish the driver with a specially constructed racing-car costing from twenty thousand to fifty thousand dollars. In addition, we pay the driver from two hundred to two thousand dollars for making the race, and if he wins he gets a bonus of from one thousand to eight thousand dollars—depending on the importance of the race to us. In the Borden cup race the entrance fee is five hundred; we pay that, give you five hundred more to make the race, furnish you with a good racing-car, and give you a bonus of two thousand if you win."
"Hoop-a-la!" exulted Carl. "Dot means Easy Shdreed, mit a pig E. Modor Matt iss a vinner from Vinnerville."