"I mean it! Let's make this a clean race and a clean win. It will be better for the Jarrot people, better for me, better for everybody."
"Well, if you insist——"
"I do insist. That's the way I want it."
Matt climbed into the low-hung body of the car and lost himself to the head and shoulders in the driver's seat. The starter was looking toward them and throwing up his hand. Trueman jumped to "turn over" the engine, and Matt made for the starting tape.
In spite of cap and goggles some of those in the grandstand recognized Matt. They were those who had seen him working like a Trojan over the circuit for a week, who had heard about his mysterious disappearance, and who now welcomed his return with hearty cheers.
Matt got away in grand style, whisked around the track and darted through the break in the fence.
As soon as Sercomb, in the last Stark-Frisbie car, had started, Plympton went over to where Trueman was standing.
"I'm glad King got back," said the colonel. "His disappearance had an ugly look."
"It still has an ugly look, Plympton," returned Trueman.