“A conspiracy, by gad, to keep me from meeting McGlory! How’d you expect him to get here in a motor wagon you couldn’t run yourself?”
“I didn’t know who the lads were, colonel, or I’d have been more considerate. But”—and here he turned to Matt—“how did you do it?”
“We had plenty of trouble with the machine,” said Matt, “but we made it bring us.”
The situation was clearing. Levitt, at the time Matt and McGlory had met him that morning, was also on his way to the Malvern Country Club.
“Re-markable!” cooed the colonel. “But it’s a terrible land for dust, ain’t it?” He poured something from the decanter into the glasses. “Irrigate!” he said. “Advance by file, my young friends, and refresh the inner man.”
“None for me, colonel,” answered Matt, whose opinion of the colonel was dropping by swift degrees.
“That’s the way I stack up, too, colonel,” grinned McGlory.
The colonel looked horrified.
“From Arizona, Joseph,” he murmured, “and you won’t indulge? Ex-traordinary, I must say. Smoke?” And he indicated the box of cigars.
“No, colonel,” declined Matt.