Matt, McGlory, and Lorry loaded themselves into the cab, and were driven away in the direction of Kearney Street.
"Let's get right down to cases, George," said the cowboy when they were well on their way. "First off, just understand that I'm your friend, that I'm representin' the folks back in Madison, and that I haven't trailed you to get back those ten thousand plunks."
With an effort, Lorry braced back in his seat and pushed the straggling hair out of his eyes.
"I didn't know what you were after, McGlory," he answered; "but I wasn't going to be bagged by you. When I'm ready to go home I'm ready, and not before."
"Oh, you ain't?" grunted the cowboy sarcastically.
"That's flat. The folks haven't treated me right, and they know it. They——"
"Oh, cut that out," growled McGlory wearily. "Haven't you got any sense, or are you just half fake and half false alarm? The trouble with Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie is that they've done a heap too much for you. If you'd had to knock about the mines and cattle ranges, same as me, earnin' your grub by hard knocks, I reckon you'd see things a lot different."
"I know my own business," snapped Lorry. "You haven't been in Madison for a year, Joe McGlory, and you don't know how the old man has been rubbing my fur the wrong way. I told him I wouldn't stand for it—and I didn't."
"You're a pill!" snorted McGlory, in a temper.
"What's more," pursued Lorry, in a temper that matched his cousin's, "I'm not going to take any insolence from you. You're nothing but a rowdy, anyhow. Your father was a rowdy——"