“You’ll have to tell me a little bit more about this man before you go,” said he. “He may have been hurt in an automobile accident, or he may have been hit on the head with a sand bag.” “Sufferin’ hold-ups!” muttered McGlory. “Do you take us for strong-arm men?” Just at that moment a policeman entered. “Heard there was an injured man brought in here, doc,” said he. The doctor explained--not only about the injured man, but about Matt’s hurry to get away to New York. The policeman also became suspicious. Matt, however, took him apart and went into a somewhat lengthy explanation. He told who he was, and managed to convince the officer of his identity. The name of Matt King was not unknown to the bluecoat, and he was prepared to take all that Matt said in good faith. “It’s all right, Doc,” said the officer, as soon as Matt had finished talking; “these young fellows didn’t have anything more to do with that man’s condition than you or I. We’ll look after Levitt. Badly hurt?” “Yes.” “Seriously?” “Not dangerously, if that’s what you mean.” “Then we’re free to go, are we, officer?” asked Matt. “Sure. Skip whenever you’re ready. If I want you or your friend I’ll phone your New York hotel.” Matt and McGlory, followed by the troubled eyes of the doctor, went out to the runabout. Before starting, Matt got the lamps to going. “Now for Manhattan,” said he, climbing to his seat. “Or the ditch,” added McGlory. “The way I feel now I don’t care much what happens to us.” “That’s a funny way for you to feel, Joe,” said Matt quietly. The car moved off in fine order--an exhibition which made Matt feel like congratulating himself. “I’m entitled to my feelings, pard. For what I’ve done to-day you ought to cut me out of your herd.” “You made a mistake----” “A big one; and there was no excuse for it.” “Yes, there was, Joe. There must have been.” McGlory mumbled to himself and fell silent. “You hadn’t got far along the road from the clubhouse,” said Matt, “when the accident happened. But you must have been gone an hour. If your pace was twenty-five miles an hour, how----” “The car bothered us like Sam Hill,” cut in McGlory. “If it wasn’t one thing, it was two. Neither Levitt nor I was as good a hand at tinkering as you, and we had to hunt quite a spell before we located the troubles.” “You found something wrong?” “A dozen things!” “That’s strange! When this runabout gets to acting up, it usually seems to be without any cause whatever.” “Well,” finished the cowboy, “that explains how we were going twenty-five miles an hour, at the time the accident happened, and didn’t get any farther from the Malvern Country Club.” After this there was another silence between the chums. McGlory was getting ready to explain, and Matt patiently waited. CHAPTER XIV. M’GLORY’S LESSON. “Pard,” said McGlory finally, “I’ve connected with a lesson this afternoon that’s made the biggest kind of an impression on me.” “What sort of a lesson, Joe?” asked Matt.