The king of the motor boys did not want to appear to be helping George to dodge his father's authority, but he knew that the elder Lorry would not have taken the stand he did if he had not acquired a whole lot of misinformation. The thing for Matt to do was to get back to George and McGlory, tell them exactly what had taken place, and then ask them for suggestions as to the next move.
On the way down King Street, Matt stopped at a store and bought a supply of gasoline, oil, and cotton waste. Not having a hydrometer, he tested the gasoline as well as he could by other means, and convinced himself that it was, as the dealer assured him, the "right stuff."
Matt rode down to the lake with the expressman who took his supplies, and when he got there he found the Sprite in the water, moored to a small pier. The express driver, and those who had helped him with the boat, were gone. The only person in the vicinity of the launch was a barefooted little darky. He sat on the pier, absorbed in throwing a couple of dice.
"Come seben, 'leben, come seben, 'leben," he was saying, as the small cubes rattled on the boards.
"Pickerel Pete!" called Matt.
The little negro jumped as though a bomb had exploded under him.
"Yassuh, yassuh, dat's me," he answered, grabbing up the dice and shoving them into a pocket of his ragged trousers.
"Come over here, Pete, and give us a hand with this gasoline and stuff."
"On de hop."
The gasoline was emptied into the tanks and the oil cups filled. After that Matt went over the machinery, carefully examining the ignition and all connections.