It looked like Matt's race, although it could be seen that his car was bothering him terribly. Chub was as busy as a monkey with its hand in a coconut, switching out and in with one hand, pumping oil with the other, and occasionally giving swift attention to something else. He was fairly plastered with oil and dust.
Matt had passed Sercomb, having gone completely around the circuit and caught up with him. But Sercomb's machine was again working smoothly and was going much faster than the No. 13. He passed Matt. But could he get around the track completely and then cross the finish-line with a margin to his credit?
If everything held up, it looked as though he would be able to win.
How the crowd in the grand stand watched that gap in the fence, beyond the paddock, for a glimpse of Sercomb rushing over the course to make up his opponent's lead!
Trueman and Plympton were consulting their watches nervously.
"Something's gone wrong with Sercomb," muttered Plympton. "At the rate he was going when he passed here, on the other round, he ought to have been back before this."
"The accidents can't all happen to one car," said Trueman.
"That's so; but Stark-Frisbie usually put out dependable cars. King has been having trouble with your racer almost from the start."
"It's the finish of the race that tells the story," returned Trueman.
"This will be the first race the Jarrot people ever won—providing you win it."