THE RICH MAN'S SON.

"Blubbering!" muttered McGlory, with a look of profound disgust. "I might overlook his attempt to shake a cartridge into himself, but this baby act is too much for me."

George Lorry was a puzzle to Motor Matt. And all Matt had overheard between McGlory and Lorry had only made the puzzle more perplexing.

"Don't be too hard on him, Joe," said Matt. "There must be something pretty serious at the bottom of this or Lorry wouldn't have tried to shoot himself."

"Did he try," asked McGlory darkly, "or was it only a bluff?"

"According to his story, he jumped off the ferryboat to get away from you. That alone proves he was desperate."

"Maybe he was talking with two tongues when he said that."

Matt stepped over to the side of the room.

"Why did he leave Madison, Joe?" he asked in a low voice, as soon as McGlory had joined him.

"He got to be more than Uncle Dan could handle. You see, pard, Uncle Dan's money runs up into seven figures, and George corralled the notion that whenever he wanted anything all he had to do was to order it sent up to the house. He joined a yacht club, and wanted to put a motor boat in a race, so what does he do but order a five-thousand-dollar racer, and drew on dad. Dad lands on the proposition with both feet, and little George over there is so mad he sulks in his room for a week, then he chases himself out of the house, and trots a heat with a swift bunch of thoroughbreds, who spend their time gamblin' and drinkin'. George does that, you know, just to show how mad he is; but dad's dander is up good and plenty, and he vows he'll send George to a military academy, where they'll straighten the kinks out of him or else break him in two. George was more worked up over the military school than he was over the racing boat, so he opens dad's safe one night, takes out ten thousand in cold cash, and slips away from Madison between two days.

"Uncle Dan is a pretty good sort of fellow, although he never did anything for the McGlorys—not so you could notice it. He writes me all this that I've been tellin' you, Matt, and says that, if I see anything of George, will I please rope down, and tie him, and wire. The day after I get the letter, along comes a telegram saying George went to Chicago and bought a ticket for 'Frisco, and asking me to hit only the high places between Tucson and the Golden Gate. I went, and I've been here a week, walkin' my boot soles off, and askin' questions till I was blue in the face—but nothing doing. I got the notion that George had used his ten thousand for a trip to furrin parts, and so I was just beginning to cut loose on my own account and enjoy the boats when you and I came together, and this business of the Sprite was pushed into the grooves. If it hadn't been for you and the Sprite, pard, I'd never have found George. Now that I have found him, what am I going to do with him? Speak to me about that. I'd like to unload a little of the responsibility onto you."

"He's spoiled," observed Matt, after a little reflection; "and that's a cinch."

"Oh, no, he ain't spoiled!" scoffed McGlory. "He's just mildewed with conceit and cobwebbed with ideas of his own importance. Back of all that, he's got about as much s-a-n-d as a gopher. He's over there now leaking great big briny tears like a Piute squaw who's been caught stealin' a string of glass beads. Wonder if he thinks he can melt me?"

McGlory's black eyes glittered as they wandered to the heaving form on the bed.

"You'd think he was seven instead of seventeen," he grunted.

"There may be something in him, Joe," suggested Matt, "for all that."

"There ain't anything in him worth while—you couldn't find it with a mikerscope."

"Let's give him a chance, anyhow."

"Chance? I'm willing. But what's the number? And how you going to play it?"

"Your first move is to get hold of that ten thousand. He doesn't seem to have it with him, and it may be that he's feeling cut up because he gambled with the money, and lost it. If you can't get the money, then find out where it is. Don't go at him hammer and tongs, but use a little tact."

McGlory grinned.

"Smooth him down with a piece of velvet, eh?" he queried. "Dust him off with a few sweet words, and gently lift him back on the pedestal where he's already stood for more years than have been good for him. Not me, pard. Anyhow, I'm short on tact. You do it."

Matt laughed a little as he looked at the cowboy and listened to him. It was plain that Matt's sympathy for George wasn't appreciated, and that if any diplomacy was used it was Matt who would have to use it.

Without further words Matt walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair.

"George," said he, "we're friends of yours, and we want to help you. Everybody makes a mistake now and then, and you've made a big one, but there's no use fretting about it. That ten thousand is the principal thing. If we can get hold of that, you'll be able to work out of this thing in good shape, and perhaps we can fix it so you can return to Madison and cut a better figure there than when you left the town."

"I don't want to go back to Madison," came the muffled reply from the pillow. "The governor has treated me like a dog, and I've washed my hands of him."

"Suppose we could arrange matters so the governor would treat you better?"

"You can't," snuffled George; "nobody can. The governor's a brute."

"I think we can make your father see things in a different light," went on Matt; "but the first thing to do is to send back that money."

George jammed his head deeper into the pillow.

"I haven't got it," he whispered.

"You must have done a lot of gambling to——"

"No, I didn't. It was stolen from me. The red-whiskered man with a mole on his face took it."

"How was that? Turn over here, George, so we can hear you."

"That's all there is to it," declared George, lifting his face a little so his words were more distinct. "I met him, and Kinky, and Ross on the train. I thought they were nice, sociable fellows; but that's where I made a mistake. They got on the train at Salt Lake City, and when we reached 'Frisco they got me to come to this hotel. The red-whiskered man had business over in Tiburon—I don't know what it was—and he went over there the next day after we reached 'Frisco, and lost his trunk check. They wouldn't let him have the trunk without the check, and he was awfully worked up. Kinky told Red-whiskers that maybe I had swiped the check, and they all seemed to believe it. Anyhow, Red-whiskers said the trunk was worth more'n ten thousand and they made me turn over that money I'd brought from home. Red-whiskers said that when I found the check, or when he proved his property and made the railroad company give up his trunk, he'd give me back the money. I went over to Tiburon, the next day, myself, and when I got back here, Kinky, Ross, and the other fellow had left. I've been going over to Tiburon every day since, but I couldn't find the check or hear anything about it. And I haven't heard anything about Red-whiskers, either. He and his two pals have stolen the money, that's what they've done. I was an easy mark, and—and—what's the good of living, anyhow?"

George jammed his head down into the pillow again.

This strange recital left Matt and McGlory gasping. It was clear that George had fallen into the hands of sharpers, and had been robbed, but there was that baggage check Matt had picked up near the little Tiburon wharf. That looked as though there might be something in the yarn Red-whiskers had told about losing the check.

"Well, speak to me about this!" breathed McGlory. "That check you found, pard, may be the very one this chap with the auburn wind teasers lost! Wouldn't that knock you slabsided? Sufferin' jew's-harps! Why, I never heard anythin' to match it. Fate is workin' you into this game for fair."

Lorry hoisted himself up suddenly on the bed.

"Did you find a trunk check over in Tiburon?" he demanded.

"Yes," replied Matt, and took the flat piece of brass from his pocket.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Lorry. "It would be a big load off my mind if that check could be used for getting back the money. Light the gas, McGlory."

It was falling dark outside, and the cowboy scratched a match and touched the flame to a jet. As soon as the light was going, Lorry took the check in his own hands and looked it over exultantly. Then, abruptly, he jumped for the bed and rushed toward a suit case that lay on a chair.

"What are you going to do, George?" inquired McGlory.

"Get into some dry clothes and then hunt for Red-whiskers. This means a whole lot to me. I'm going to Honolulu, and I need that ten thousand."

"Don't be in a rush, Lorry," said Matt. "Was there just ten thousand in the roll? Didn't you use any of it?"

"Not a cent! I had enough to get me to 'Frisco, and pay a few other expenses, aside from that. And it wasn't a roll; it was a packet with a band around the middle stamped with the name of the Merchants' and Traders' Bank, of Madison. Jupiter, but this is a good clue, and——"

Some one rapped on the door. McGlory answered the summons and found the frowsy-looking clerk and a boy of about nine in the hall. The clerk pushed the boy forward and pointed to Motor Matt.

"That's him," said the clerk, "an' I'll bet money."

"You Motor Matt?" queried the boy, rushing into the room.

"Yes," answered Matt.

"Den dis here's fer you. Dere's an answer, an' I'll wait fer it."

The boy handed over an envelope. Matt opened the envelope and read the inclosure. A strange light leaped into his gray eyes.

"Who gave you this, my lad?" he asked of the boy.

"Dunno de cove, but he had red lilocks an' a face like er ape."

"Well, I'm not giving him anything till he proves his property, see? You tell him that. Also tell him that I won't meet him in Turk Bremer's Place, but will be at the foot of Clay Street in half an hour. Understand?"

"Sure thing," grinned the boy.

Matt snapped a quarter into the air and the boy grabbed it and made off.

"What's it all about, pard?" asked McGlory.

"Did you tell anybody in Tiburon about my finding that trunk check, Joe?" asked Matt.

"I told the galoot that bossed the raffle."

"Then that explains it," muttered Matt. "Listen."

Thereupon he read the note aloud.

"'Motor Matt: Several days ago I lost a baggage check somewhere in Tiburon, and a couple of hours ago I was told that you had found one there. It's a cinch it's mine. Give it to the boy; or, if my bare word that it belongs to me isn't enough, then come to Turk Bremer's Place on the "Front" in half an hour and I'll prove property.

John Smith.'"

McGlory fell back in his chair. Lorry, with a startled exclamation, grabbed the note out of Matt's hand to look at it for himself.