Originally published: May 29, 1909
Genres: Adventure, Children's
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199578553-motor-matt-s-promise-or-the-wreck-of-the-hawk
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48591
Chapters: 16
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
ON THE LEVEE
"Py shiminy grickets!"
"Well, strike me lucky!"
"Can I pelieve vat I see mit my eyes, Tick, or haf I got der plind shtaggers?"
"I'm guessing good and hard, Carl. It's main queer, and no mistake."
"Py all der rules oof der game dot feller iss Matt King, oddervise Modor Matt, oddervise Mile-a-minute Matt, King oof der Modor Poys und Gaptain oof der air ship Hawk, aber I bed you I nefer see him like dot pefore."
"It's Matt, all right, but sink me if I'm not taken all aback by the way he acts. What's come over the old ship to do like that?"
It was about half-past four in the afternoon, and Carl Pretzel and Dick Ferral were on their way along the waterfront of New Orleans. They had gone into town on an important errand and were now returning to Stuyvesant Dock, where their airship was moored and where they had expected to find Motor Matt.
Just off the foot of Canal Street, a steamer was loading for False River. Four-mule teams attached to heavy drays were backed up to the wharf and long lines of black men were crossing the gangplank with bags on their shoulders and recrossing empty-handed for other burdens.
It was an attractive scene for the two boys and they halted for a few moments to watch; then, suddenly, a big surprise was sprung on them. They saw Motor Matt, hands in his pockets, loafing along the levee—at least they thought it was Motor Matt, for the lad was of the same build, the same height, and with a face exactly like the young motorist's. Carl and Dick knew Matt so well that they were positive they were not mistaken, but there was something about Matt they could not understand.
In the first place, Matt was slouching along. That wasn't like him, for as a rule, he was as spry as a cricket in all his movements. Then, again, Matt was wearing a slouch hat, a dingy red sweater, and frayed corduroy trousers—all as different as possible from the trim young motorist in his leather cap and jacket. But—and this was the most incomprehensible thing to Carl and Dick—Matt was smoking a cigarette. Now, Motor Matt was down on cigarettes good and hard, for he knew the havoc they made with a fellow's constitution, and that no one could keep in the pink of condition if he used them; and yet, there he was with one of the rice-paper things hanging between his lips.
Small wonder Carl and Dick were astounded. If a small-sized earthquake had happened along and shaken things up generally the two boys could not have been more astounded.
Although they were in plain view, Matt did not seem to notice them. For a while they stared—and then, abruptly, Dick had an idea.
"He's in disguise," averred Dick.
"For vy iss he dot?" inquired Carl.
"It must be he's watching somebody and don't want the fellow to know who he is."
"Vat a foolishness!" muttered Carl. "He can't make some disguises unless he geds anodder face. I vould know dot face oof his anyvere, no madder how he vas got oop, nor how many cigarettes he shmoked. Ach, du lieber! I am surbrised ad him, und dot's all aboudt it."
"Well," continued Dick, "this letter of Townsend's is important and I've got to get it into his hands. If Matt is watching somebody, the thing is to hand him the letter without giving him away. Anyone seeing us chinning with him would suspect right away that he was our chum, for all three of us are pretty well known up and down the riverfront."
"Dot's righdt," said Carl. "Ve don'd vant to tip off his game oof he iss blaying vone. How ve vas going to gif him der ledder, hey?"
"I guess I can do it, but it won't be any first-chop work. I'll give a whistle and make him look this way, then I'll flash the letter, lay it on this bale of cotton, and we'll back off and give him a wide berth."
"Meppy der feller Matt iss vatching vill see you do dot?"
"Mayhap, but we've got to run the risk. This letter of Townsend's, you know, is important and must be acted upon tonight. Now listen while I pipe up."
Ferral put his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. Several loungers looked toward the two boys, Matt himself shifting his eyes languidly in their direction. Ferral at once drew a letter from the breast of his shirt, held it in front of him, cautiously pointed to it as he looked at Matt, and then laid it on the bale of cotton.
It was far from being cleverly done—the very nature of the case, with so many loungers about, put cleverness out of the question. All Dick hoped for, however, was that the man Matt was watching might not see the move.
The work of Carl and Dick was built entirely on surmises. Unable to explain Matt's get-up and actions in any other way, they surmised that he must be watching someone; but the biggest surmise—and which, to the boys, seemed no surmise at all, but positive reality—was that the lad was Motor Matt.
Matt, hands still in his pockets and a cigarette between his lips, shuffled toward the cotton bale.
"We've tipped him off," chuckled Dick, as he and Carl backed away. "He'll fall afoul of that letter, now, and it's up to us to give him a good offing. I hope the move wasn't seen by the swab he's got under his eye."
From a safe distance, the two boys watched while Matt came close to the bale and leaned against it while he picked up the letter. He was amazingly open and aboveboard while he examined that letter. Carl and Dick thought he would sneak it off the cotton bale, tuck it in his pocket and lounge carelessly away. But they were mistaken. Matt held the letter up curiously and turned it around and around in his hand.
"Well, keelhaul me!" growled Dick. "He might just as well tell everybody what we've done as to examine the letter like that. There must be a screw loose in his head! Why, I never saw him act like that before. I can't smoke his roll any way you put it."
"I vas all mixed oop aboudt it meinseluf," said Carl, in a puzzled tone. "He iss acting so keveer as I can't tell. Oof he vas keeping drack oof somepody, vy don'd—"
Just then something happened that caused Carl to catch his breath. A startled exclamation escaped Dick.
In a flash, the cotton bale had leaped into flame!
Wild shouts came from everywhere on that part of the levee. Stevedores dropped their burdens, bystanders lost their passive demeanor and teamsters jumped from their trucks. Buckets were secured and dipped in the river and hustled toward the blazing bale with the water.
Meanwhile, Matt had slouched off to a good distance from the fire. While the boys drew nearer and watched excitedly, they saw an officer rush up to their chum, seize the cigarette from his lips, dash it on the planks, and crush it under his foot.
"Can't you read, you idiot?" fumed the officer. "Look there!"
With his club, he pointed to a sign which read, "No smoking." All over the levee, there were signs to that effect. No matter which way a fellow turned the curt order, "No smoking," stared him in the face.
"Aw, forget it!" said Matt, with a curt disregard for legal authority that came to Dick and Carl like a slap in the face. "You're a copper, all right, but you can't get gay with me."
This insolence astounded the officer. Likewise, it served to arouse his temper.
"I'll get gay with you, all right, my festive kiskedee," he snapped. "That cigarette of yours set fire to that bale, an' you'll just consider yourself pinched."
The officer's hand dropped on Matt's shoulder.
"You will pinch me, eh?" answered Matt. "Well, you've got another guess coming!"
With that, his languid air vanished in a twinkling and he became imbued with the fiercest kind of energy. With a swift leap, he wrenched himself free of the policeman's detaining hand. The policeman, with an angry shout, jumped at him, swinging his club. Matt's foot went out and the policeman was neatly tripped and measured his length on the planks.
This was energy of the kind Motor Matt could display, upon occasion, but he had never been known to direct it against an officer of the law. Nor was Motor Matt insolent—he had other ways of meeting injustice.
Astonishment at the swift progress of events and the unheard-of actions of their chum held Carl and Dick stunned in their tracks.
"He iss grazy!" averred Carl, with a gasp. "Modor Matt has gone off der chump! He iss pughouse, yah, so helup me!"
"He's all ahoo in his top hammer and no mistake!" agreed Dick. "But we've got to help him, Carl. We can't stand off and on while Matt's in trouble. Avast there!" he yelled, running toward the exciting scene.
"Hold back a minute, officer! Sheer off, and keep those men back!"
The policeman had scrambled to his feet, and stevedores and bystanders were all making a concerted rush in Matt's direction.
"Yah, yah," taunted Matt defiantly. "I'm ready for anything from a fight to a foot race."
He was lightning-like in his movements now. Pulling over a barrel that stood on end, he rolled it into the midst of his pursuers. Half a dozen of them went down in a tangled heap and so interfered with the others that pursuit was, for a moment, checked.
Matt made the most of this period of grace and ducked away toward Canal Street. There were two or three carriages at the edge of the wharf, and by the open door of one of them, a man was standing.
"This way, King!" the man shouted, beckoning.
Carl and Dick saw the fugitive swerve in the direction of the carriage. Another moment and he and the man were inside, the door slammed, and the black man on the box whipped away. In less time than it takes to tell it, the carriage was lost in a crowd of vehicles, while Dick and Carl were gasping on the levee, staring blankly into each other's eyes.
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