"My name, yes, sir," and Trueman gave Matt a more careful sizing.
"Well, I'm a driver. Why not let me take you over the course?"
Trueman shook his head.
"We were going over it for Glick's benefit," said he, "not mine. Who are you, young man, and where do you come from?"
Matt introduced himself, and presented Carl.
"Have you ever driven a racing-car?" asked Trueman, the boy's bearing and talk impressing him more and more.
"No," replied Matt, "but I'm confident I could do it. I've had a lot to do with gasoline-motors, and I've driven a good many cars."
"Come in here and look at this one," said Trueman. "Properly driven, I'll bet money we have a car that can walk away from anything Stark-Frisbie or Bly-Lambert have in the race."
Matt walked into the garage and looked over the red racer. It was a chain-driven, ninety-horse-power machine, and had the savage "get-there" look of a car that, run to the limit, could be made to win.
"Glick knows how I depend on him," remarked Trueman, "so he does about as he pleases. We're giving him a thousand dollars to make the race, and a bonus of two thousand if he wins. If he doesn't spill the salt, or meet a cross-eyed man, or run into a post, he'll stand up under the strain and acquit himself in good shape."