WHAT ABOUT THE RACE?
Matt opened his eyes in surroundings that were not familiar to him. The room was big and lofty, and the bed he was lying in was a huge affair of brass and had a mosquito canopy. He tried to lift his right arm. The movement was attended with so much pain that he gave it up. He saw that the arm was swathed in bandages.
A sound of whispering came to him from the bedside. Turning his head on the pillow, he saw two figures that had escaped him up to that moment. One was Lorry and the other was McGlory.
"The doctor says he'll have to stay in bed for a week," Lorry was saying.
"Sufferin' speed boats!" muttered McGlory. "Let's kiss our chances good-by. It's glory enough, anyhow, just to know Matt got clear of the burnin' boathouse with his life."
"Don't be in a rush about bidding good-by to our chances," said Matt.
McGlory jumped around in his chair, and Lorry started up and hurried to the bedside with a glowing face.
"Jupiter, but it's good to hear your voice again, Matt," said Lorry.
"We were expectin' you to wake up any minute, pard," added McGlory. "How're you feeling?"
"A one, except for my arm. What's the matter with it?"