“No, ye don’t! You fellers can’t play any shenanigin tricks on Bill Hawkins. I’m too old a hand to be come over by two younkers like you.”
“Sufferin’ jaybirds!” growled McGlory. “Say, constable, this message we want to send is mighty important. If we can get it through, it will prevent a ten-thousand-dollar robbery in New York.”
Bill Hawkins laughed.
“You’re funnier’n a Joe Miller joke book,” said he. “Jest as though ye could make me swaller a yarn like that. Git in, Hiram,” he added. “You drive this automobile right down Main Street till I tell ye to stop,” he finished, addressing Matt.
“Will you let me send that telegram?” pleaded McGlory. “It will only take a minute.”
“Well, I guess not,” said the constable, snapping his lean jaws decisively. “Start the car,” he ordered sternly.
Matt took two five-dollar bills from his pocket, offering one to each of the men.
“You can read the telegram, Mr. Hawkins,” said Matt. “It’s important.”
Hawkins went up on his toes and fairly bristled.
“Say,” he snorted, “you ain’t got money enough to bribe me from doin’ my duty. Now I know ye’re crooked. Tryin’ to bribe Bill Hawkins! Well, by jing! What d’ye think o’ that, Hiram?”