“Not necessarily.”
McGlory’s face went blank.
“What do you mean by that, pard?” he queried.
Matt hitched his chair closer.
“Suppose we don’t get away from here until to-morrow morning, Joe,” said he, “why couldn’t we send a telegram to the bank? Wouldn’t that do just as well as though we dropped in there personally?”
“I’m the prize blockhead, all right,” muttered McGlory. “Of course, a telegram will do, in case we can’t get out of here in time to reach New York before the bank opens. But let’s try to break out.”
The cowboy got up and looked around reflectively.
“Where’ll we try first?” asked Matt.
“Watch me!” answered his chum, his face lighting up. He made a dash for the fireplace.
“Here’s where this clawhammer suit catches it,” said he, crawling into the opening.