Neither had much to say about Tsan Ti. Matt was half fearing the mandarin's business was a good deal of a wild-goose chase, and that the ponderous Celestial, for reasons of his own, had absented himself permanently.
Following the meal, the boys went out to sit on the veranda. They had hardly taken their chairs when a big red automobile, with a rumble seat behind in place of a tonneau, sizzled up to the front of the hotel and came to a stop.
There was one man in the car. As soon as the dust had settled a little, a black cap with a red button, a long queue, and a yellow blouse emerged with startling distinctness upon the gaze of the two boys.
McGlory sat in his chair as though paralyzed.
"It's Tsan Ti!" he murmured feebly, switching his eyes to Matt.
"Tsan Ti, and no mistake," answered Matt.
"First he rides a bike," said the cowboy, rapidly recovering, "and now he blows in on us at the steering wheel of a gasoline cart. He's the handiest all-around heathen I ever met up with. And look at him! He acts just as though nothing had happened. Well, let me know about that, will you?"
Tsan Ti turned sidewise in the driver's seat, and swept his gaze over the front of the hotel. He was less than half a minute getting the range of the motor boys. Lifting a hand, he beckoned for them to come.
"He wants us," said Matt grimly. "We'd better go, and hear what he has to say for himself."
"That's the talk!" agreed McGlory.