"I'm going to keep you in reserve," said he. "If Glick kicks over the traces, and throws up his hands, I may fall back on you as a last resort."
"Meanwhile," returned Matt, "I'm going to be on the look-out for a car. I'm going to be in that race, and if I have a chance you can't blame me for taking it."
"Not at all, not at all. I like your driving, though, and if I was sure you wouldn't lose your head with cars all around you and dust so thick you can't see the bonnet, I don't know but I——" He broke off reflectively. "Well," he finished, "we'll see what happens."
Matt and Carl drifted back through the town. Several cars were just coming in from the circuit, their drivers and mechanics begrimed with dust and oil.
"It vas a gredt game, I bed you!" breathed Carl. "I hope dot der suberstitious feller meeds oop mit a plack cat or somet'ing, so dot you ged his chob, Matt."
"I'm going to race for somebody," answered Matt, "even if I have to go over the course in a touring car. I never had the fever like I've got it now."
"Me, neider," grinned Carl. "Led's go pack to der hodel und hunt for some tinner."
That afternoon the two chums passed quietly on the hotel porch, listening to the racing talk that was going on all around them. It was about five o'clock when a boy came hurriedly to the hotel and disappeared inside the office. A few moments later the clerk came out of the office and gave Matt a letter.
"That's for you, Mr. King," said the clerk. "The boy says he's waiting for your answer."
Matt tore open the letter and read as follows: