"Go right to the Morton house," he directed Frank, "and stay until I come. Tell the widow and her daughter that I will soon have matters straightened out. I'll do it if I have to get a writ from the Supreme Court justice by waking him out of bed. Callum's lawyer has been up to some sharp practice."
The elder Racer lad found Mrs. Morton and Gertrude in a very nervous state when he arrived. In the parlor sat a burly representative of the sheriff's office. He was smoking and sat in one chair with his feet on another.
"Don't you know how to behave?" asked Frank indignantly. "This isn't a stable," and he knocked the cigar from the man's lips with a folded newspaper.
"Here! What are you up to?" yelled the fellow. "I'll have you in jail for that. I represent the law!"
"Then I'm sorry for the law," was Frank's rejoinder. "You stop smoking or I'll notify the sheriff of your conduct. I don't believe he'd stand for that."
"Oh, you mind your own business!" grumbled the deputy. But he did not light another cigar, and he took his feet from the chair.
Frank quickly told Mrs. Morton of the measures he had taken, and assured her that the fellow would soon have to leave.
"Oh, I don't know what we would ever do if it wasn't for you, Frank!" exclaimed Gertrude, blushing as she used his name. "I was desperate when that horrid man came in, and I could only think of one thing to do—notify you."
"I'm glad you did," he said heartily.
"And to-morrow is the day of the race," the girl went on. "I do hope this won't make you lose it! Grace and I are coming to see you win!"