"They didn't know our pard very well, George," observed the cowboy. "What did they say when you turned 'em down, Matt?"
"Ordered me to quit. Said if I didn't the lot of us, over here, would have to face all kinds of music."
"I always did like music," said the cowboy. "Right this minute I'm feelin' like a brass band and I've got to toot."
McGlory's "toot" was more like a steam calliope than a brass band, and it was so hilarious that Ping, who was still acting as outside guard, pushed his yellow face in at the window over the workbench.
"Who makee low?" he inquired.
"There's no row, you heathen," answered the cowboy, tossing him a sandwich. "There, take that and stop your face. I'm jubilatin', that's all."
Ping disappeared with a grin and the sandwich.
"What are you jubilating about, Joe?" inquired Lorry.
"Don't you savvy, George? Why, Motor Matt's on his mettle! All that talk that Merton and his pards gave him just cinched him up for the 'go' of his life. You'll see things at that race. As for facing the music—there's nothing to it. Why, the Sprite's as good as passed the stake boat and over the finish line right now."
There was little doubt but that McGlory's jovial mood and confident forecast of coming events heartened Lorry wonderfully.