"Well?" he demanded.
"He come right in, Colonel Plympton," called the boy from behind Matt. "I told him what you said."
"Ah!" Plympton laid aside his paper, wheeled the chair about and gave Matt his keen attention. "That was hardly the thing for you to do, King," said he. "When I say a thing I usually mean it."
"I'm sure, sir," returned Matt, "that you wouldn't have refused to see me if you hadn't been misinformed about some things connected with me. I beg your pardon for walking in on you uninvited, but you can hardly refuse to let me say a few words for myself, Colonel Plympton."
There was something so steady and true in the lad's gray eyes, and something so frank and open about his face, that the colonel nodded toward a chair.
"You might as well sit down, now you're in here," said he, "but I don't think anything you can say will change my opinion of you."
"Did Mr. Tomlinson speak to you about me?" asked Matt, taking the chair.
"He did—and warmly—yesterday afternoon. That made it all the harder for me to believe something that has just come to light."
"Ralph Sercomb was just here?"
"Sercomb is one of our crack drivers, but I wouldn't have believed even him if he hadn't had proof of what he said in black and white."