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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE
MOTOR FICTION
NO. 21 JULY 17, 1909
FIVE CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S LAUNCH
OR A FRIEND IN NEED
_BY THE AUTHOR OF MOTOR MATT_
_"Steady!" cried Motor Matt; "you'll be all right in a minute."_]
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according toAct of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian ofCongress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,New York, N. Y._
No. 21. NEW YORK, July 17, 1909. Price Five Cents.
Motor Matt's Launch
OR,
A FRIEND IN NEED.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FORTUNES. CHAPTER II. THE RAFFLE. CHAPTER III. PING PONG OBJECTS. CHAPTER IV. ANOTHER RESCUE. CHAPTER V. AN ODD TANGLE. CHAPTER VI. THE RICH MAN'S SON. CHAPTER VII. A PLAN THAT FAILED. CHAPTER VIII. A CHASE ACROSS THE BAY. CHAPTER IX. THE LION'S MOUTH. CHAPTER X. THE MOUTH CLOSES. CHAPTER XI. SURPRISING EVENTS. CHAPTER XII. M'GLORY'S RUN OF LUCK. CHAPTER XIII. WAITING AND WORRYING. CHAPTER XIV. PING STARS HIMSELF. CHAPTER XV. A NEW TWIST--BY GEORGE. CHAPTER XVI. ANOTHER TWIST--BY MATT AND M'GLORY. THE MAN-EATER.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=George Lorry=, a lad who has begun steering a wrong course, and in whom Matt recognizes a victim of circumstances rather than a youth who is innately conceited, domineering and unscrupulous.
=Ping Pong=, a young Chinese who wins a motor launch in a raffle and insists on working for Motor Matt. Full of heathen vagaries, he drops mysteriously out of the story--but is destined to be heard from again.
="Red-whiskers,"= otherwise "Big John," an unscrupulous person who takes his dishonest toll wherever he can find it; but, in crossing Motor Matt's course, he meets with rather more than he has bargained for.
=Kinky and Ross=, two pals of Big John.
=Landers=, another pal who proves treacherous.
CHAPTER I.
NEW FRIENDS AND NEW FORTUNES.
"What next?"
Not often does a boy put that question to himself and receive an answeras quickly as Motor Matt received his.
The king of the motor boys was out among the sand dunes on the PresidioMilitary Reservation. He had started to walk to the old fort at theGolden Gate, but had dropped down on one of the sand heaps, thinking--alittle moodily, it must be admitted--over his present situation, andwhat lay ahead.
It was a fine morning. The sky was pale blue and without a cloud,and the bay was as blue as indigo. The trade wind blew over him, andtempered the heat, and the salt tang in the air reminded him of thelong voyage around the Horn which he and his chums had completed nomore than a week before.
Alcatraz was so close that it almost seemed to Matt as though he couldtake a running jump from the shore and clear the intervening stretchof water, and beyond Alcatraz, like a purple pyramid, arose Tamalpais,looking westward across the Pacific.
Matt was gloomy because, early that morning, he had separated from histwo chums, Dick Ferral and Carl Pretzel. Dick had received a telegramfrom his uncle, in Denver, asking him to come east at once. At hisinvitation, Carl had gone with him. Both lads urged Matt to accompanythem, but he had declined, thinking more seriously than he had everdone of some "prep" school and a course at Leland Stanford. If he wasto take that step, seeking new friends and new fortunes, why not takeit now?
There was something more in life, Matt told himself, than just knockingaround the world, meeting all kinds of trouble and getting the upperhand of it.
But there were the motors, the explosive engines Matt loved so well,and had worked among so long. If he entered some academy, he would haveto turn his back on the humming cylinders, the rushing wheels, and theracing propellers.
That thought gave him a pang. The gasoline motor was just coming intoits own, and the field that lay before it was so wide as to staggerthe imagination. Could Matt tear himself away from the fascinationof terminals, commutators and spark plugs, from differential andtransmission gear, from spray nozzles and float feeds, from the steadyexplosion, the perfect mixture of air and gasoline, the humming of thecoils, and the beautifully balanced reciprocity of a running motor?
Well, after a while, perhaps, but not--not right away.
"What next?" he asked himself.
"Huh!" came a sound, half-grunt and half-greeting, from directly infront of him.
During his reflections, Matt's head had bowed forward and his eyeshad fixed themselves vacantly on the gray sand. He raised his glanceabruptly, and saw within a yard of him a young fellow in dingysombrero, faded blue flannel shirt, and corduroy trousers.
The lad could not have been more than seventeen. His face was tanned adeep bronze, and his eyes were as black as midnight. His nose was whatis termed a "snub," and gave his face a droll, humorous look. As heslouched in front of Matt he had his hands in his pockets.
For a full minute Matt and the stranger surveyed each other.
"Huh!" said the stranger again, pulling a hand out of his pocket tojerk the brim of his hat down over one eye. "Got any sand?" he inquired.
"Sand?" echoed Matt.
"Sure--s-a-n-d, sand. I'm game as a hornet myself, and I reckon I canlay holt of you and wind you up like an eight-day clock. Say, try me awhirl, catch-as-catch-can. If I can't put you on your back in a braceof shakes, I'll eat my spurs. Dare you!"
The stranger backed off, and pushed up his sleeves. A wide grin crossedhis face and his black eyes twinkled.
"What have you got against me?" asked Matt. "Why do you want to fight?"
"Shucks! You got to have a reason for every blamed thing? Come at me.Dare you--dare you! I'm hungry to caper--and you ain't going to holdback on a feller when he's _hungry_, are you?"
Matt laughed.
"Well, no," he answered, getting up.
Then, without any ifs, ands, or whyfors, the king of the motor boys andthe stranger rushed together.
It was the "double grapevine" that did the business for the stranger.In ten seconds, by the watch, he went into the air and dropped down onthe soft sand with a _chug_ that left him dazed and bewildered. Then hesat up and stared.
"Well, well, well!" he sputtered. He was still grinning, and his blackeyes traveled over Matt with wonder and admiration. "You the Tur'bleTurk in disguise?" he inquired.
"Hardly," laughed Matt. "You must have learned wrestling in anAgricultural School."
"Mebby," answered the other, picking himself up, "but I ain't divinginto my wannegan any, at that. You can't give me another jolt likethat, pard. Two out of three, you know. First fall for the gent in theleather cap--but the next one's mine. Whoop-ee!"
The stranger, bareheaded and sleeves rolled to his elbows, rushedat Matt like a hurricane. Matt side-stepped, whirled, caught hisantagonist from behind and shouldered him like a bag of meal. The nextinstant he had dropped him, and squirmed out from under his grippingfingers.
/> "Gee, man!" gasped the stranger, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Speakto me about that, oh, _do_! He lifts me up and sets me down, and all mycaperin' don't amount to shucks. Ain't it scandalous to be hip-lockedwith like that?"
"Got enough?" asked Matt.
"Plenty, _amigo_." The stranger climbed to his feet, picked up his hatand reflectively slapped the sand out of it. "Down where I come from, afeller can 'most always tell when he's got enough. When did you breakout on this part of the map?"
"A week ago."
"What label do you tote?"
"King, Matt King."
The strange youth came within one of dropping his hat.
"Speak to me about _that_!" he gasped, his eyes widening. "Why, I mightas well have wrestled with a locomotive and tried to stand it on itsheadlight in the right of way! Say, I've read about _you_! You're theking of the motor boys--the big high boy who brought that submarinearound South Americy, and turned her over to Uncle Sam here in 'Frisco._Gracias!_"
"What are you thanking me for?"
"Because you could have tied me into a bowknot and tossed me intothe bay--and you didn't. Next time I hip-lock with a cyclone I hopesomebody will put a tag on me and ship me to an asylum for thefeeble-minded. My name's McGlory, Joe McGlory, and when I'm to home Ihang up my lid in Tucson. Shake, Motor Matt. You sure stack up prettyhigh with me."
"Glad to know you, McGlory," said Matt, highly edified, giving theyouth's hand a cordial pressure. "Is it your custom to take a fall outof every acquaintance you make?"
"Well, it's sort of satisfyin', when you make friends with a galoot, toknow which is the best man. It shows you what he's got in him that youcan depend on in a pinch, see? I reckon you think I've got everythingbut the long ears, eh? Don't make a mistake about that, pard. I'm notso foolish as you might think. Tell me something!"
"What?"
"While you've been in 'Frisco have you seen anything of a feller aboutmy heft and height, scar an inch long over his right eyebrow, answerin'to the name of George Lorry?"
Matt shook his head.
"Haven't seen him," he answered. "Are you looking for a fellowanswering that description?"
"I am, a heap."
The grin, which seemed almost perpetual on McGlory's face, faded intoan earnest expression as he mentioned the lad he was looking for.
"Did you come to this reservation looking for him?" went on Matt.
"Nary, pard." McGlory faced the boy, and waved his hand toward thelife-saving station ahead, and to the left of them, on the shore."I'm mortal fond of boats," he went on. "Kind of queer, that, don'tyou think, for a galoot that's passed pretty near his whole life inthe mines and in the cattle ranges? Anyway, that's me. I can't crossthe ferry without gettin' seasick, but, all the same, everythingthat floats tickles me more than I can tell. I've been down to thelife-saving station looking at the surf boat."
"I'm fond of boats myself," said Matt, "especially motor boats. There'ssomething on the ground that must belong to you, McGlory," he added,pointing to the sand near where McGlory had fallen, the first time.
The young cowboy looked at the object, and then recovered it with awhoop. The object was a small, oblong square of pasteboard.
"It's a ticket for the raffle," McGlory explained. "There's two hundredof 'em out, and I've got sixty."
"Raffle?" queried Matt.
"Sure. A little old motor launch is goin' to be raffled off, over atTiburon, this afternoon. Say, that boat's a streak! She can show herheels to anythin' in San Francisco Bay. Speak to me about that, willyou! I've got sixty chances out of two hundred for baggin' her. Comeover with me to the raffle, pard. I've cottoned to you, and you're mystyle from the ground up. What say?"
"Can you run a motor launch?" asked Matt.
"Don't know the first thing about it."
"What do you want with such a boat, then, if it makes you seasick toride on the water, and if you don't know how to run a motor?"
"Shucks! Whenever I get a notion I play it up strong, no matter whetherthere's any reason in it or not. That's Joe McGlory from spurs toheadpiece, and everybody in Tucson will tell you the same. Are you withme, Matt? If you are, we'll slide back through the reservation, andjump the cars."
Matt had already conceived a liking for young McGlory. There wassomething mysterious about him, and a mystery is always attractive.
A few moments later the king of the motor boys was strolling alongthe old board walk between the big Presidio barracks and the row ofofficers' houses, side by side with his new friend.
New friends and new fortunes, ran his thoughts. How were they to turnout, and what were they to be?
Motor Matt's Launch; or, A Friend in Need Page 1