"I'm doing a century to-day," remarked the motor cycle owner, "and this is cutting into my time."
"Don't fret about your wheel, neighbor," spoke up McGlory. "You'll get it back, all right."
"I'm not fretting. Motor Matt's welcome to a dozen of the gasoline bikes if I had 'em. But I'd like to be moving on."
Burton looked at his watch.
"Matt's been gone thirty-five minutes," he announced.
"If he was running all the time," observed the lad from the motor-car works, "he could be thirty-five miles from here."
"Perhaps," ventured Twomley, "he has mucked the play, somehow."
"Mucked the play!" exclaimed the exasperated McGlory. "That's not his style, your lordship."
"We'll wait twenty-five minutes longer," announced Burton. "If Matt isn't back by then, this young man and I will start along the car track in my runabout and we'll see what we can find."
"Dake me along," clamored Carl. "I vas afraidt somet'ing iss wrong mit Matt."