"Oh, I'll play foxy, all right. I'll hang back for a few days and watch my chance."
"But don't delay too long," cautioned Uncle Ezra. "Automobile hire is expensive, and I'm not as rich as Mortimer Hamilton. Don't go wastin' my money."
"Well, I'm not going to starve on the trip," laughed the man. "I've got to live decently if I'm to pose as a touring autoist."
"Oh, dear!" groaned Uncle Ezra. "This is going to cost a pile of money—a dreadful pile!"
"But you're going to make a lot out of it!" insisted the shyster lawyer.
"Maybe—maybe," assented the old man. "And say," he went on to Morton, "you'll get that paper away from him. I know he has some sort of a paper to file, to cheat me out of my hard-earned money. I was sharp enough to find that out, though he and his father think they fooled me. But I was too much for 'em—I was so—ha! ha!" and he chuckled so that he went into a coughing fit, and had to be thumped on the back to bring his breath into his lungs again.
"You—you'll get that paper; won't you?" he pleaded.
"Sure I will," declared Jake Morton. "And they won't know I have it until it's too late to file it."
"Good!" exclaimed Uncle Ezra. "And maybe, while you are at it, you could get that auto away from my nephew, or wreck it, or something like that."