Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER XII.

  WHAT ABOUT THE RACE?

  Matt opened his eyes in surroundings that were not familiar to him. Theroom was big and lofty, and the bed he was lying in was a huge affairof brass and had a mosquito canopy. He tried to lift his right arm.The movement was attended with so much pain that he gave it up. He sawthat the arm was swathed in bandages.

  A sound of whispering came to him from the bedside. Turning his head onthe pillow, he saw two figures that had escaped him up to that moment.One was Lorry and the other was McGlory.

  "The doctor says he'll have to stay in bed for a week," Lorry wassaying.

  "Sufferin' speed boats!" muttered McGlory. "Let's kiss our chancesgood-by. It's glory enough, anyhow, just to know Matt got clear of theburnin' boathouse with his life."

  "Don't be in a rush about bidding good-by to our chances," said Matt.

  McGlory jumped around in his chair, and Lorry started up and hurried tothe bedside with a glowing face.

  "Jupiter, but it's good to hear your voice again, Matt," said Lorry.

  "We were expectin' you to wake up any minute, pard," added McGlory."How're you feeling?"

  "A one, except for my arm. What's the matter with it?"

  "A sprain and a bad burn," replied Lorry.

  "I remember, now," muttered Matt. "A blazing timber fell from the roofand pinned my arm against the gunwale of the _Sprite_. It isn't afracture?"

  "Nary, pard," said McGlory. "You were in a heap of luck to get out ofthat blaze as well as you did."

  "I guess that's right. Where am I?"

  "In the Lorry home on Fourth Lake Ridge," smiled George. "We took youacross the lake to the Yahara Club, and when I called up dad on thephone, and told him what had happened, he insisted on sending thecarriage after you. The doctor was here when we arrived. He has patchedyou up so you'll be as good as new in a week."

  "Is Ping all right?"

  McGlory chuckled.

  "You can't kill a Chink, pard," he answered. "Ping was unconscious,same as you, when we picked up the _Sprite_, but he drifted back toearth while we were crossing the lake."

  "And the _Sprite_--did she suffer any damage?"

  "She's blistered here and there, but otherwise she's just as good asshe was when you hit her the last tap."

  "What about the race?"

  A glum expression settled over the faces of George and Joe.

  "Well," said George, "this is Monday morning, and the race is to-morrowafternoon. The doctor says you ought to keep quiet for a week. Ofcourse, the race can't be postponed, and if the _Sprite_ doesn't cometo the line to-morrow, why, the Winnequas keep the cup. Also, Mertonand his clique keep the money they wagered. That has been their gameall along, and every bet they made was with the understanding that ifthe Yahara Club failed to furnish a starter in the race the Winnequafellows were to pull down all the stakes."

  A glimmer came into Matt's gray eyes.

  "It looks to me," he remarked, "as though Merton and his friends had afeeling all along that something was going to happen to the _Sprite_."

  McGlory scowled, and Lorry looked grave.

  "Have you heard anything about who started that fire?" went on Matt.

  "The latest comes from Merton indirectly," said Lorry. "We hear thathe's spreading a report that we were careless with matches, and that wekept our gasoline in the boathouse."

  "Sufferin' boomerangs!" snapped McGlory. "I reckon, if we figure itdown to a fine point, people will find that Merton was careless inhiring niggers to do his crooked work."

  "Negroes?" echoed Matt. "That reminds me, Joe, that I couldn't find youwhen I woke up and found the boathouse in flames. Where were you?"

  "Speak to me about that!" gurgled McGlory. "Why, pard, I was lashedhand and foot and smothered with a gag. I could hear you callin', butit wasn't possible for me to answer you. That was torture, and don'tyou forget it. What's more, I could hear you and Ping talking, and byturning my head I could see you getting into the boathouse through thewindow. It was only when George, half-dazed, stumbled over me, that Iwas able to let any one know where I was. George got the ropes off me,and I'd have gone into the boathouse after you, only the front of ittumbled and blocked the attempt. Then we went around and got in thelaunch, thinking we'd get in by the water door and give the _Sprite_ alift into the cove. Before we could do that the buildin' began to cavein, and the gasoline to let go, and then the _Sprite_ came smashingthrough the door and began dancing a hornpipe out in the lake. Lorryand I manoeuvred around until we managed to catch her, and then webrought you across to the clubhouse. That's where the _Sprite_ is now,and she'll be well taken care of by the Yahara boys."

  "But the negroes!" exclaimed Matt. "You haven't told me anything aboutthem."

  "Keno!" grinned McGlory. "I told the last end of my yarn. I reckon thefirst end was left out because it don't reflect any credit on yourUncle Joe. Lorry called me at midnight to go on guard duty. I slidout, and hadn't been watching the boathouse more than three hours whena couple of black villains nailed me as I was going around a corner.I was dazed with an upper-cut, and before I could get into shape todo any fighting, they had me on the mat. Then I had to lay there andlisten to 'em setting fire to the boathouse, with you, and Lorry, andPing inside, never dreaming of what was going on. I reckon I'm a backnumber, pard. It was my fault."

  "You can't shoulder the responsibility, Joe," answered Matt. "Youcouldn't help being knocked down, and tied, and gagged."

  "Nary, I couldn't," was McGlory's gloomy rejoinder; "but I might havestepped high, wide, and handsome when I went around that corner. IfI'd had as much sense as the law allows I'd have seen that black fistbefore it landed, either ducked or side-stepped, and then let off ayell. All you fellows inside needed was the right sort of a yell. ButI didn't give it. When it came to a showdown, pard, I couldn't deliverthe goods."

  "I still maintain that you have no cause to blame yourself," persistedMatt. "If George or I had been in your place, Joe, the same thing wouldhave happened."

  McGlory bent his head reflectively.

  "It's mighty good of you, pard, to put it that way," said he finally.

  "Would you know those negroes again if you were to see them?" askedMatt.

  McGlory shook his head.

  "It was plumb dark there in the shadow of the boathouse," he answered."I could just make out that they were negroes, and that's all. Ireckon, though, that Ollie Merton could tell us who those fellowswere--if he would."

  "I'd be a little careful, Joe," cautioned Matt, "about involving Mertonin that fire. If it could be proved against him it would be a mightyserious business--just as serious as for the fellows who set the fire."

  "Well, pard, why was Merton and his friends making their bets in thatqueer way? In case there isn't any race because of the failure of theYahara Club to produce a starter, the Winnequas take the stakes. Thatlooks as though Merton and his pals knew what was going to happen. Ifthe _Sprite_ was burned, there'd be no boat for the Yaharas to produce."

  "Joe's right," declared Lorry.

  "Well, keep your suspicions to yourselves," said Matt. "In a case ofthis kind it's positive proof that's needed, not bare suspicion. Wasn'tthe fire seen from the city? Didn't any one go across the lake to helpfight it?"

  "We met a couple of boats going over as we were coming across with youand Ping," replied Lorry. "By that time, though, the boathouse was nomore than a heap of embers. It went quick after it got started. Butwhat about the race to-morrow? That's the point that's bothering me. Icould take the _Sprite_ over the course, and so could Joe, at a pinch,but we wouldn't get the speed out of her that you would."

  "I'll drive her myself," said Matt.

  "Speak to me about that!" gasped McGlory. "Why, pard, you've only gotone hand--and that's the left."

  "A man who's any good at automobile driving has a pretty good lefthand. In an automobile race, Joe, the driver's left hand has to do abig share of the work. The racer steers with the left hand, holdingthe right hand
free for the emergency brake. The left hand has to betrained to take full charge at all corners, and in a thousand and oneother places as the need arises. I can do the racing well enough."

  "But the doctor says----" began Lorry.

  "I know what I can do better than the doctor, George," laughed Matt."I'll be in that race every minute--watch me."

  Both Lorry and McGlory studied Matt's face carefully.

  "Pluck, that's what it is," muttered McGlory. "It's the sort of pluckthat wins. But I don't know whether the doctor will let you----"

  Just at that moment a servant stepped into the room.

  "What is it, James?" asked Lorry.

  "Mr. Martin Rawlins to see Mr. King," was the answer.

  Lorry looked bewildered.

  "Mart Rawlins!" he exclaimed. "Why, he's one of the Winnequa fellows,and a crony of Merton's!"

  "He's here to pump Matt," growled McGlory, "or else to find out whathis chances are for being in that race to-morrow. Sufferin' tinhorns,what a nerve!"

  "Have him come up, Lorry," said Matt. "It won't do any harm to talkwith him. If he's here to pump me, he's welcome to try."

  Lorry nodded to the servant, and a few moments later Mart Rawlinsentered the room.