“Only that I feel as if I cannot tell him I have lost twenty thousand dollars of the bank’s money.”
“H’m! What are you going to do about it?”
“I won’t do anything for a few days, except to wire my uncle I will not be in New York just yet. He will know I have some reason for delay.”
“Won’t think you’ve lost the money?”
Stanley Downs winced at this blunt suggestion.
“It will never occur to him. Besides, I may find it before I have to tell him anything about it. I have not given up hope yet. The men are still dredging the lake.”
“I am afraid there is little chance of your getting the twenty thousand dollars if you depend on its being fished out of the lake,” declared Lawrence Ranfelt, shaking his head.
“I think that, too,” was Stanley’s unexpected outburst. “I am not depending on that. In this big motor race at the Prentiss Speedway, the money prizes go to the drivers, while the cup will be awarded to the car. I have been asked to drive a Thunderbolt car in this race, and have been considering it for several days. This decides me. I will drive in the race.”
He got up, as he said this, stretching his arms and expanding his chest, as if glad to have come to a conclusion on a perplexing matter.