ANOTHER TWIST—BY MATT AND M'GLORY.

"I don't like your attitude," said Lorry haughtily, to the officer when they were all in the office.

"Naturally," grinned the policeman, "I'm not responsible for that."

"Well," ordered George, "search them, take the money and give it to me. That's all I want. They've got it, I know they have."

"You bet we've got it, George," said McGlory, opening the satchel and fishing out the bunch of bills. "How does that look to you? Everything's all shipshape, too, even to the name of the bank on the wrapper."

George gave a cry of delight and started forward.

"See him!" cried McGlory, calmly pushing his cousin back with one hand and thrusting the money into his breast pocket with the other.

"I want that, McGlory," snapped George.

"I know you do, but you don't get it."

"Come, come," put in the officer. "There's a whole lot of money in that roll——"

"Ten thousand, officer."

"Does it belong to this young fellow?"

"Not that anybody knows. He stole it, and we've just got it back from a bunch of crooks who lifted it from him."

The officer frowned.

"Ah," he muttered, "this is beginning to look serious. He says you two boys are thieves, and now you're accusing him of being a thief."

"There's a difference, officer," said McGlory.

"Difference?"

"Sure. We can prove our case, and he can't prove his."

"How'll you prove it?"

"Why, by sending a telegram to this young chap's father, in Madison, Wisconsin. Police headquarters will keep the money until an answer is received to that message."

Lorry went pale and began to tremble.

"I won't have it that way," he declared hotly.

"I guess you will," said the officer grimly. "That's a fair way to settle this business, and you ought to abide by your father's orders if these other young fellows are willing to."

"They've got some game they're trying to play," scowled George, "and I won't stand for it. I'll make you all sorry for this," he threatened, turning away.

The officer grabbed him before he had taken two steps.

"Where you going, Lorry?" he asked.

"Take your hands off of me!" ordered Lorry, striking feebly at the big fist that had collared him. "I'm going where I please, and you've no right to interfere with me."

"You're going to headquarters," asserted the policeman, "and it's there you'll stay until an answer is returned to that telegram."

"You gave the game a twist, George," grinned McGlory, "and now here's another twist, by Motor Matt and me."

"What made you think of such a foolish move, George?" asked Matt. "You didn't really think we were trying to steal that money, did you?"

"How'd I know?" snarled Lorry sullenly. "I haven't a very good opinion of McGlory, and if you travel around with him I can't have a much better opinion of you."

Motor Matt was disgusted.

"McGlory and I will go to headquarters with you, officer," said he, "and explain this to the chief. The quicker that telegram is sent, the better."

The straightforward story which Matt and the cowboy told the chief of police aroused nothing but pity and contempt for young Lorry.

A telegram was forwarded to George's father, at Madison, and all three of the boys were treated as guests, rather than as prisoners, by the chief while they awaited an answer to the message.

This interval Matt put in to good advantage. In his memorandum book he had the number of the baggage check which had been turned over to Big John, and also the name of the railroad by which it had been issued.

At Matt's suggestion, the chief sent a couple of officers to the depot to examine the trunk, and also to warn the railroad officials to call a policeman at once in case any man presented the baggage check and tried to claim the trunk.

In two hours the two officers were back, highly elated. They had opened the trunk and had found it to contain, securely packed in a lot of clothing, a very complete burglar's kit.

"We can understand now," remarked the chief, "why those rascals were so anxious to secure the trunk check. In order to claim the trunk without the check, they would have had to identify the property. They would have looked nice describing that set of burglar's tools, wouldn't they? My word for it, no one will ever show up at the station and try to claim that trunk. After what has happened, it would be altogether too dangerous."

The trunk and the burglar's kit were confiscated by the police.

It was evening before McGlory received a telegram from his Uncle Dan. The message was a long one, and entirely satisfactory to the authorities, even if not so pleasing to Lorry.

The message ran as follows:

"Thank you for what you have done. My desire is to have you take charge of money and to bring George back home. This Motor Matt, who has already been of so much aid, might be willing to come with you and help still further. Use as much of the money as needed for your expenses. Prefer to have George brought home by you than to send officers for him. Bring him whether he wants to come or not. We will take care of him when he gets here."

"I'll not go," declared Lorry, when the telegram was read to him.

"I guess you will, old chap," said McGlory. "There'll be two of us, and if we have to, you know, we can carry you to the train."

If Lorry's looks reflected his feelings, his frame of mind was anything but enviable. As a precaution, he was to be left at police headquarters until train time.

"You're going along, eh, pard?" asked McGlory, as soon as he had got Matt where he could talk to him privately.

"It's a sudden turn for me," answered Matt. "Yesterday, at this time, I hadn't any more idea of going to Wisconsin than I had of going to China."

"What difference does it make to you where you are, Matt, so long as you're making a little good money?"

"Money isn't everything, Joe."

"No more it ain't, but in this case, Matt, you're helping a couple of mighty good people—and by that, I mean Uncle Dan and Aunt Mollie."

"If I go, McGlory, it will be to help somebody else."

"Who?"

"Why, George, himself. I think there's good stuff in him if it could be brought out."

"Hear him! Matt, George is as near a false alarm as you'll find anywhere. He's not more than half baked; if he wasn't all of that, do you think he'd have tried to have us arrested for stealing that money?"

"He's all worked up, now, and has been for quite a while," explained Matt. "When a fellow's in that condition, Joe, he's not wholly responsible for what he does."

"Talk about making a man of George is all a summer breeze, Matt. He hasn't a thing to build on, if you count out the cigarette habit."

Matt mused for a little while.

"He likes motor boats, I believe you said, Joe?" he queried at last.

"Well, yes," laughed McGlory, "a liking for boats seems to run in the family. It was a motor boat, you sabe, that started George on his last dash for the Pacific Slope and freedom. But what of that?"

"I was thinking that a course of motor boats might develop George into a different person."

McGlory whistled. Then he laughed.

"You're over my head, Matt," said he, "but that's nothing. The point is, will you go? I don't care what sort of a fool notion takes you, just so you see me through to the end of the trip."

"I'll go," replied Matt.

McGlory reached out his hand.

THE END.

THE NEXT NUMBER (22) WILL CONTAIN

Motor Matt's Enemies;

OR,

A STRUGGLE FOR THE RIGHT.

On the Road to Waunakee—Into a Noose, and Out of It Again—George's Sister—The "Jump Spark"—By Express, Charges Collect—"Pickerel Pete"—George and McGlory Missing—Setting a Snare—Enemies to be Feared—Between Fire and Water—Chums to the Rescue—How Fate Threw the Dice—Under the Overturned Boat—A Dash for the Open—The Power Boat, Minus the Power—A Reconciliation.

NEW YORK, July 17, 1909.

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