"Eighty miles an hour there one spell," went on the young inventor, glancing at a gauge. "But I've got to do better than that to win the big race."
CHAPTER XV
ANDY FOGER'S BLACK EYE
Around the bend came the six-cylinder touring car. The driver, with a surprised look on his face, was slacking up. He ran his machine up alongside of Tom's.
"Say," he asked, in dazed tones, "did you take a short cut, or anything like that to get ahead of me?"
"No," answered the youth.
"And you didn't jump me in the air?"
"No," was Tom's answer, smilingly given.
"Well, all I've got to say is that you've got a wonderful car there, Mr.—er—er—" He paused suggestively.