"Certainly we won't tell anybody!" answered Matt. "We're obliged to you, Prebbles, and here's a five-dollar bill to pay you for your trouble."
Prebbles drew back from the money.
"You can't make me take that," he declared. "Murg's the only robber in the loan office. I'd be as bad as him if I took the money. I'm doing this because I want to be square. They'd kick me out of the army if I took money for doin' what's right."
"Take this," insisted Matt, "and give it to the mission. You can do that, can't you?"
"Sure." Prebbles pocketed the money. "I'm off, now," he went on, starting away. "I hope you won't have more trouble than you can take care of, but you've got a hard gang against you. Good-by."
"So long, Prebbles."
The clerk vanished, and Matt and McGlory, their nerves tingling with the prospect ahead of them, went back into the hotel, and took chairs near the telephone booth.
Mr. Black himself called up, fifteen minutes later. He was willing to take the boys to Fort Totten that night, for the sum of fifty dollars; his machine was ready, and he'd be at the hotel in five minutes.
"Bully!" exulted McGlory, when Matt came out of the booth and reported what the real estate man had said. "Say, pard," the cowboy added, "you're throwin' your money around like a nabob. At this rate, how long'll that stake last that you picked up in Madison?"
"Till we pull down that government money on account of the aëroplane, Joe," returned Matt decisively.