Chapter XVI · LOST—A FORTUNE.

Joe McGlory drifted back to conscience amid surroundings that were entirely new to him. He was in a white iron bed. On one side of the bed stood a woman in a white cap and apron, and on the other side was a man in black. Over the foot of the bed leaned Matt, his anxious face clearing a little as McGlory opened his eyes.

“Ah!” murmured the doctor.

“Where am I?” inquired the cowboy.

“In the emergency ward of the City Hospital,” answered the doctor.

“I’ve got about as much right here as a maverick steer in a watermelon patch. Sufferin’ sister, what a jolt!”

A smile sneaked over the doctor’s face. The nurse turned her head. Matt laughed, highly delighted.

“He’ll be all right, don’t you think so, doctor?” Matt asked.

“A lad who can come out from under the influence of a narcotic with such a flow of spirits,” averred the doctor, “is bound to be all right.”

“What’s the matter with me?” the cowboy asked.

“A couple of broken ribs.”

“I thought I’d busted something! Say, Matt!”

“What is it, Joe?”

“The last I remember I was in the office of Random & Griggs. When was that?”

“Last night.”

The cowboy turned his head so he could see the sunlight coming through the window.

“And now it’s this morning?”

“Yes.”

“When will I get out of here, doc? This afternoon?”

“If you get out of here in less than two weeks you’ll do well,” said the doctor.

“Speak to me about that!” muttered McGlory.

“It’s all right, Joe,” said Matt. “I’ll be here every day to see you.”

“Sure you will. I couldn’t stand it if you stayed away. The old runabout got me, after all!”

“You were lucky to escape as well as you did,” spoke up the doctor. “You took a long automobile ride, after you were hurt,” he added severely, “and did a number of other things that were entirely unnecessary, and which aggravated your condition.”

“Correct, doc,” grinned McGlory; “I was aggravated a whole lot, and no mistake. Where’s the hoodoo car now, Matt?”

“Billy’s got it in the garage.”

“I wonder that Billy would have it there, considering how he feels about it.”

“Billy’s not the boss of the garage, Joe,” laughed Matt. “If he was, probably he’d refuse to give the car storage.”

“Hear anything from Hempstead?”

“Well, yes. Levitt is coming along as well as can be expected.”

“I don’t think you had better talk any more, my lad,” interposed the doctor.

“I’ll die if I don’t, doc,” declared McGlory. “Give me a little more rope, can’t you?”

“A little.”

“Where’s the colonel, Matt?” went on McGlory.

“No one knows, Joe. He was ordered out of town, and I guess he’s gone, or going.”

“He played hob with me, all right. How’s the syndicate?”

“You’d feel highly complimented if you could hear what they said about you.”

“What did they say about you?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Sure you don’t. You never remember what’s said about you, but whenever any one tips you off concernin’ a pard you keep it right on tap. What are you going to do for the two weeks I’m laid up?”

“Just hang around and wait for you to get well, I guess,” Matt laughed.

“Don’t hike out of town, will you?”

“No; I’m going to stay right here.”

McGlory looked at the doctor.

“He’s my pard, doc,” said he. “Matt’s his label, and he’s the clear quill any way you take him.”

“You both seem to stand pretty high in each other’s estimation,” smiled the doctor.

“I’m standing higher in his than I deserve.”

“Cut that out, Joe,” said Matt.

“I’ll cut it out and paste it in my hat so I won’t forget it. It’s the best lesson I ever had, and I’m going to profit by it. Lost—a fortune! That’s me. I was promised a place on Easy Street, and here I am in the hospital.”

McGlory chuckled.

“You may have lost a fortune, Joe,” said Matt, “but you’ve won something a whole lot better.”

“I have—two busted ribs and a couple of weeks’ lay-off. Oh, I’m a lucky dog!”

“Don’t fret about the ribs or the lay-off, Joe,” counseled Matt. “If you get to worrying, you may have to stay here longer than two weeks.”

“Funny how I shut my eyes in Random & Griggs’ office,” remarked McGlory, leaping from one subject to another with the abruptness of a person whose brain is still a little befogged, “and open ’em here. That was sure a hard ride from Hempstead in. I don’t know how I managed to hang on. I reckon it was my wish to play even with the colonel that held me up.”

“The colonel got his deserts, Joe,” said Matt.

“The syndicate was next to him all the time. Our chasing in to tell what we knew didn’t make such a terrible lot of difference.”

“It put us on record, that’s all. It’s mighty important, sometimes, to let people know where you stand.”

“Correct, again. But listen. Didn’t Colonel Billings pull a gun on you, Matt, before he left the office? Seems to me I remember that.”

“He pulled a gun, Joe; but I don’t know what he intended to do with it.”

“Then I’ll put you next, pard. He intended to play even with you.”

“Or you,” answered Matt.

“Not me,” insisted Joe. “The colonel knows I haven’t got sense enough to make him much trouble. But he’s afraid of Matt King. Look out for him, pard.”

“The colonel has his orders to leave town, and——”

“That doesn’t mean that he’ll go. During the two weeks I’m holding down this nice little bed here, you keep both eyes skinned for Colonel Mark Antony Billings. He’s liable to show his hand when you’re not thinking he’s within a thousand miles of you. Pretty sudden, the colonel is. He sprang a surprise on us when we got to the Country Club and found him there to meet us instead of Joshua Griggs. That’s a sample of the way he does things, Matt. You look out for him.”

“That will do now,” said the doctor authoritatively. “You’ve talked more than you ought to.”

“When’ll you blow in here again, pard?” added McGlory, reaching out his hand.

“This afternoon.”

“That’s you. I’ve lost a fortune, pard, but I didn’t let you get away from me. We’re pards, same as per usual, and in spite of what happened at the Country Club?”

“Sure we are. That couldn’t make any difference, Joe.”

“It would have made a big difference with some fellows, but Matt King’s of a different calibre.”

“That’s what pards are for, Joe,” whispered Matt as he let go his chum’s hand, “to stand by each other.”

“Like you hung to me,” returned the cowboy, “and not the way I stood by you. Well, I’ve had my lesson, and we’ll let it go at that. Adios!”

Matt turned and left the ward, and the hospital. There were a lot of people in New York, but it seemed like a mighty lonesome place now that McGlory was laid up for repairs.

The colonel, being a wise man, considered it good policy to get away from New York, and head for his favorite stamping grounds in the Southwest, for neither Matt nor Joe ever saw him again.

When Joe got well Matt had found something in his favorite line of motors to engage their attention, and with such a team of hustlers to drive things, the business could not be anything but a success.

THE END.

The next number (364) will contain “Pluck Beats Luck; or, Tom Talbot’s Trials and Triumphs.” By John L. Douglas.

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