McGlory was coming!
Matt gave a low whistle. The cowboy answered it, and was soon at his friend’s side, gripping his hands.
“Bully for you, old chap!” exclaimed McGlory. “I’d like to see the gang that could lay you by the heels when you make up your mind to get away.”
“You saw Uncle Tom, then?”
“Sure, or I shouldn’t be here. Old Ebony-face thinks you’re about the whole works, from the way he talks. A lot of queer things have happened to-day, but the queerest is your meeting Uncle Tom in this out-of-the-way corner of Long Island.”
“Wrong, Joe. The queerest—and the best—thing that’s happened is the way we picked up that private report of Levitt’s. We have to thank the crazy runabout for that.”
McGlory, although of a different opinion on that point since listening to the colonel’s persuasions, did not allow Matt to think that he disagreed with him.
“How did you make it?” the cowboy asked. “Uncle Tom didn’t tell me much about that. Principally he worked his bazoo letting me know what a great mascot he was, and how he used to pull luck your way down in Arizona.”
Matt, briefly as he could, told about the pavilion in the rear of the club grounds, and how Uncle Tom had sent his pursuers on the wrong track.