McGlory stared incredulously.
"That's the talk," expanded Lorry, puffing up like an angry tomtit. "I'd been bossed altogether more than was right or necessary. From this on I'm my own master. You've got a little sense, Motor Matt. I give you credit for that, anyhow."
"Thanks," answered Matt, with an irony so slight Lorry let it get past him. "Will you stay right here in this hotel while Joe and I are getting the money for you?"
"Sure, I will! But I want it to-night."
"We'll get it as quick as we can. Red-whiskers, otherwise John Smith, may not have it about him, so it may be some time before we can lay hands on it."
Lorry's face fell at this.
"You'll get it, though, won't you? You've got to get it. Do that for me and I'll give you five dollars apiece."
"Fine!" rumbled McGlory, with a wink at Matt. "If George's generosity ever strikes in it'll bother him worse than the measles. How did Red-whiskers know we were here, pard?"
"Probably he traced us through the Sprite," answered Matt. "He found the launch at the foot of Clay Street, and Ping must have heard us tell the cab driver to drive us to the Bixler House. Ping, of course, told the fellow."
"And he sent the boy with a note, knowing it wasn't healthy to come himself!" crowed McGlory, slapping his hands. "The old rooster didn't know how we had tangled up with George—Ping didn't tell him that."