"Which it ain't me, d'ye see?" scowled the mariner. "It's a counterfeit, got up to look like me—an' nothin' more."
"Then it's a mighty good counterfeit," averred the cowboy.
"I'm a man o' high principles, mate, even though I do say it as shouldn't. I was brought up right, by a Marblehead fisherman who hated rum, couldn't abide playin' cards, an' believed the-ay-ters was milestones on the road to the hot place. Actin' in a play I wouldn't think of, an' that's the flat of it. But what's the good word, shipmate? Are you sailin' this cruise wi' me to save the life o' the mandarin? I must know one way or t'other."
"Where is Grattan?"
"Five miles away, snug as a bug in a rug where he'll never be found onless I con the course. We'll have to go to him soon, if he's captured. I'm due at the meetin' place to-night."
"You spoke of a motor car——"
"Ay, that I did. It's hid in the woods beyond the railroad yards. We'll use that."
"You had a couple of motorcycles," said Matt.
"Which you and Grattan stole from us," supplemented McGlory. "What's become of them, Bunce?"
"Wrecked an' sunk," answered Bunce. "Mine sprung a leak an' went over a cliff in fifty fathoms of air; Grattan's bounced up on a reef an' went to pieces. Then we lifted the motor car, usin' of it for night cruises."