"Sure nod," put in Carl, "aber I don'd like dot. I vouldt radder punch Sercomb's headt as led him go. Dot's me—so savage all der time as some grizzly pears."
"Well, drive on, Patterson," said Trueman impatiently. "Settle the business as Matt wants it, Plympton, if you can."
Patterson drove the car to the hotel, Matt receiving congratulations all the way into town.
He and Chub were both extremely tired, but a bath and fresh clothes made them feel a hundred per cent. better.
While the two boys were looking after their own comfort, mutual explanations were indulged in.
Matt learned how Chub and his father had started for Chicago to make a sale of the mine, how Chub had learned Matt was to take part in the cup race, and had stopped off at Ottawa to be with his chum in his hour of victory—or defeat.
Matt then explained how he had come to himself, early Tuesday morning, camping down on a straw pile four miles from Lawrence.
"It's a queer thing," said he, "coming to your senses and finding yourself somewhere and never knowing the least thing about how you got there!"
"Well, I should smile!" grinned Chub. "You don't know a whole lot about it yet, do you? We haven't had much time for talk since you got back."
"I know I was drugged in some way," returned Matt, "and that I had just time to get from Lawrence to Ottawa in a gasoline speeder so as to enter the race. If Trueman had drawn first place, I guess I'd have been on the bleachers instead of in the car."