Carl's temper rushed to the surface.
"Don'd you make some insulding remarks neider!" he scowled. "Modor Matt don'd vas a putter-in! Und I peen his chum, efery tay und all der dime, yah, so helup me."
"Motor Matt came to Denver with Mr. James Q. Tomlinson, in Mr. Tomlinson's touring-car, the Red Flier?" proceeded the man in the car.
"Vat iss it your pitzness?" demanded Carl.
"Motor Matt has come here to enter the racing-field?" continued the other.
"Vell, he iss a pedder triver as anypody, und vy nod?"
"He intends to apply to Colonel Plympton for a place on the Stark-Frisbie staff of racers? He wants to drive a car in the race for the Bordon cup?"
"I don'd say nodding. Vatefer Modor Matt toes, he vill do, und it vill be pedder oof you leaf him alone."
"Carl Pretzel," went on the man in the car sternly, "we have a line on this Motor Matt. He is the original Buttinsky. Wherever he goes he noses around for a place where he can meddle with other people's business. A week ago he was at his old tricks down in New Mexico, and——"
Carl jumped to his feet angrily.