Originally published: Aug. 28, 1909
Genres: Adventure, Children's
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200518372-motor-matt-s-engagement-or-on-the-road-with-a-show
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52138
Chapters: 16
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
"ON THE BANKS OF THE WABASH"
Strange, how a few harmless ingredients, thrown together and mixed, will set the trouble pot a-boiling.
Saltpeter is an innocent and useful product, and so is charcoal and sulfur; but seventy-five percent of the first, fifteen percent of the second, and ten percent of the third, when properly mixed, will make gunpowder—an explosive that has slain millions, made kingdoms over into republics, and changed the map of the world again and again.
So, on this beautiful morning, with the banks of the Wabash River for a setting, fate was juggling with a few trifling elements for the purpose of combining them and manufacturing trouble.
The Big Consolidated Shows were pitching their tents near that part of the river, and two of the ingredients that helped form the dangerous mixture were connected with the "tented aggregation."
One was the big elephant, Rajah, who had a tremendous thirst and was wabbling along toward the river for a drink; the other was a Chinese boy, dipping a couple of pails of water from the stream for the steam calliope. The third element—the one having no connection with the show—was a German youth with a weakness for bursting into song.
The elephant, dryer than the desert of Sahara, was making big and rapid tracks for the brightly gleaming water, the Chinaman was leisurely filling his pails, and the German was strolling along the bank, dusty from a long tramp and with a stick over his shoulder from which swung a bundle bound up in a knotted handkerchief.
If the German had known how to sing he would not have attracted the attention of the Chinaman; and if the Chinaman had not looked and grunted his disgust, the German would not have become hostile; and if Rajah, the elephant, had not possessed such a playful disposition, the German and the Chinaman would probably have separated with no more than a few mongrel words of personal opinion. But fate was working overtime that day, and had an eye for weird combinations.
"Ach, der moon vas shining pright upon der Vabash,
From der fieldts dere comes some shmells oof new-mown hay,
Droo der candlelight der sycamores vas gleaming,
On der panks oof der Vabash, righdt avay!"
This was the German's song, and it sounded as though it had been played on a fish horn. The Chinaman could be seen to shiver as he deposited a pailful of water on the bank, straightened erect, and looked at the singer. There was that in his slant eyes which brought the German to a halt.
"Don'd you like der song, Chinaman?" demanded the Dutchman, pushing out his chin in an irritating way.
"Woosh!" snorted the Chinaman, "you makee sing all same like poodle dog makee howl."
"Py shiminy," cried the Dutchman, "I fight pedder as I sing. I don'd let no person mit a pigdail make some foolishness mit me."
"Dutchy boy clazy," declared the Chinaman.
"I nefer liked der Chinese anyways," went on the other, dropping his stick and his bundle. "Dey vas sheap skates, you bet you, und vas alvays taking avay goot shobs from American fellers. I vill tie you oop in some bowknots mit your pigdail und trop you py der rifer. Yah, so."
"Dutchy boy makee spell 'able,'" and the Chinaman, with supreme contempt, picked up his empty pail.
"You peen afraidt mit yourseluf!" shouted the Dutchman.
"My plenty busy; makee cally water fo' calliope. No gottee time to fight. Come 'lound after palade, China boy makee Dutchy boy suppa' fo' lion."
"Dot's me," breathed the Dutchman, picking up his stick and bundle. "I'll be aroundt after dot barade, you bed my life, und I don'd make some subber for der lion, neider."
He started on slowly.
Unnoticed by either of the boys, the mahout on Rajah's neck had kept the elephant close to the river bank. The mahout was dozing, and Rajah was filling the piece of hose, more generally known as his trunk, with Wabash water and squirting it into his open mouth.
Now, Rajah was an eccentric elephant. There were times when he was full of mischief and playful, and other times when the wild jungle blood got the upper hand on him and he became dangerous.
On two or three occasions, when Old Ben, the African lion, had tried to mix things with the royal Bengal tiger, Rajah had been called in to separate the fighters with a well-directed stream, hurled with catapult force from his trunk.
Rajah's cunning little eyes had been taking in the quarrel between the Dutchman and the Chinaman. Something prompted him to elevate his trunk and throw a stream after the retreating Dutch boy.
The lad was knocked off his feet, his stick going one way and his bundle the other. He jumped to his feet, spluttering, and whirled around.
Rajah was innocently squirting a dozen or more gallons of the river into his capacious throat, but the Chinaman, the empty pail still in his hand, was laughing so that he almost fell off the bank.
It was the most natural thing in the world for the Dutch boy, in the excitement of the moment, to lay the whole blame on the Chinese boy's shoulders.
The Dutchman had not seen Rajah use his trunk, and the Chinaman had. It was very laughable, and the Chinaman's cackling mirth was unrestrained.
The Dutchman saw only the empty bucket in the Chinaman's hand, and it seemed certain the deluge of water had come from the bucket.
"I gif you fits for dot, py shiminy!" whooped the Teuton.
"No can do!" declared the Chinaman.
The Dutchman came on with a bound, his dripping clothes sprinkling everything in his vicinity.
The Chinaman threw the bucket. The other dodged. The bucket sailed on through the air and struck Delhi, Rajah's mate, a sharp rap on her big, fanning ear. Delhi trumpeted loudly and started furiously after the boys.
Both the Chinaman and the Dutchman, their faculties completely wrapped up in their quarrel, gave no attention to the elephants. Coming together like a thousand bricks, they clinched and wrestled back and forth on the bank.
Delhi, wild with anger, gave no heed to the fierce prodding of her mahout but rushed onward, her trunk stretched eagerly ahead of her and twitching and curving in its desire to lay hold of the struggling youngsters.
For a second the prospect was very dark for the Teuton and the Chinaman. What would have happened to them is problematical if Delhi had had her way. But the big brute was not allowed to work her will. Rajah interfered; not out of any desire to be of help to the boys, but rather to assist his mate in securing vengeance.
Quickly Rajah aimed his trunk and hurled a stream of water. The jet struck the two boys, lifted them from their feet, and hurled them into the river. The lads were tossed from the bank in just the nick of time. Hardly were they clear of the spot where they had been wrestling when Delhi's disappointed trunk swept over it.
Rajah's mahout, of course, had aroused himself, and he and the other man got busy bringing the elephants into subjection.
The Dutchman and the Chinaman had fallen into deep water. It was necessary to disentangle themselves from each other in order to swim and keep from being drowned.
As Delhi backed away from the water's edge, under the blows of her mahout's sharp, steel prod, she flung the Dutchman's bundle and stick at the thrashing forms in the water, and followed these with the buckets.
"I can do oop a Chinese mit vone hand," gurgled the Dutchman, as his dripping head appeared above the surface of the river; "aber ven a goople oof elephants iss rung indo der game, den I don'd— Wow!"
The handkerchief bundle, hurled with terrific force, struck him on the head and sent him under.
"Dutchy boy no good!" spluttered the Chinaman. "Him velly fine false alarm— Woosh!"
One of the buckets hit the Chinaman in the small of the back and he vanished in a flurry of bubbles. When he and the Dutchman again reappeared, Delhi and Rajah were under control and no further danger threatened.
"What's the matter with you two kids?" cried Delhi's mahout, excited and angry.
"Der Chinese drew some vater on me," answered the Dutchman, "und made more monkey-doodle pitzness dan I vould shtand for."
"Him no savvy," declared the Chinese. "El'fant makee thlow water."
Rajah's mahout was a Hindoo. In a queer jargon of broken English, he described the way Rajah had hosed down the Dutchman as the latter was walking off.
The other mahout lost his wrath in a flood of merriment.
"It's all a mistake!" he called. "Come out o' the wet and stop your foolishness. If ye try to do any more fightin', I'll set Delhi onto you ag'in."
The Dutchman labored ashore with his stick and his bundle, and the Chinaman followed with his buckets.
"What do you s'pose Motor Matt would think of this, Ping?" went on the mahout. "If he—"
But what the mahout was intending to say was lost in a roar of amazement and delight from the Dutchman.
"Vat's dot? Modor Matt? Vere he iss, anyvay? Say, I vas his bard, und I peen looking for him efery blace, longer as I can dell. Shpeak, vonce! Vere iss Modor Matt?"
"China boy Motol Matt's pard," spoke up the dripping Ping. "My workee fo' Motol Matt; Dutchy boy no workee."
"Py shiminy, I dell you some more dot I peen Carl Pretzel," shouted the Dutchman, "und dot I vas looking for der show, und ditn't know I vould findt Modor Matt at der same dime. Vere iss he, misder?" and Carl appealed anxiously to the mahout.
"He's travelin' with the show, youngster," answered the mahout, "an' doin' a flyin'-machine stunt twice a day. If ye want to find him, hike for the showgrounds."
Without paying any further attention to Ping or the elephants, Carl gathered in his cap—which lay at the water's edge and was the only thing belonging to him that was not dripping wet—and laid a rapid course for the top of the bank.
Ping, filling the pails, started after Carl, worrying not a little over this new pard of Motor Matt's who had appeared so unexpectedly on the scene.
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