Originally published: April 17, 1909
Genres: Adventure, Children's
Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199573547-motor-matt-s-triumph-or-three-speeds-forward
Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47788
Chapters: 16
Warning: This may include outdated and derogatory language and attitudes.
CHAPTER I
THE WHITE-CAPS
"Vat's der madder mit you? Ach, du lieber! Vaid a minid! For vy you do dot monkey-doodle pitzness? Hoop-a-la! Oof it vas a fighdt, den ged avay, a gouple oof tozen oof you, und come ad me vone py each. I show you somet'ing, py shings, vat you don'd like und—Wow! Himmelblitzen—"
The clamor that suddenly arose in that dark Denver cross-street was as suddenly hushed.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and two lamps on distant corners shed about as much light as a pair of tallow dips. Midway between the two street lamps lay the mouth of a gloomy alley, and here it was that the frantic commotion burst out and died abruptly.
A Dutch boy had been walking along the street, accompanied by a "loudly" dressed youth. At the entrance to the alley, the Dutch boy's companion had stopped and given a low whistle. Almost immediately, and before the Teuton fairly realized what was going on, three figures had rushed from the gloom of the alley.
The Dutchman was caught from all sides, and, as he struggled, broke into a wild torrent of words. The torrent was suddenly stemmed by a cloth that was thrown over his head from behind; then, while smothered into silence and held helpless, he was lifted and borne along the alley to a basement door.
One of the four captors descended to the door and knocked three times in a peculiar manner. The door was pulled open, the captors and captive vanished swiftly inside, and the door was closed. An inner door now confronted the party, and the same knock was given here as had been given outside.
"Who approaches?" demanded a sepulchral voice.
"Four drivers of racing cars," answered the spokesman of the party, "bringing the Dutch chum of the fellow who calls himself Motor Matt."
"Give me the countersign."
"Four speeds forward and one reverse."
The countersign was whispered.
"Enter, drivers, and finish your work," went on the sepulchral voice.
Two minutes later the Dutch boy was seated in a chair, released, and the cloth whisked from his head. With a shout of anger, he started to his feet.
"Sit down!" commanded a voice sternly.
The captive was blinded by a glare of acetylene lamps, the rays of which crossed the room from all four walls, interlacing and merging in one comprehensive glow. Gradually, as the captive's eyes became accustomed to the light, he made out the mouth of a small cannon thrust into his face. Back of the gun stood a figure cowled in white.
The Dutch boy started back from the leveled weapon and sank into his chair once more; then his wondering eyes swerved about him.
An automobile stood in front of him, backed up against the stone wall of the basement. It was a two-passenger roadster, with acetylene and oil lamps lighted. In the driver's seat sat another cowled figure. Three chairs on either side of the automobile held more of the white caps, all rigidly erect and silent.
"Vat a foolish pitzness!" growled the captive. "Oof you hat a ring ve vould haf a circus, und—"
"Silence!" thundered the white cap with the gun.
He had taken a seat at the captive's side and leaned from his chair to poke the point of the weapon in the captive's ribs.
Honk, honk!
The man in the car tooted his horn.
"Number Three," said he, "will report."
From one of the chairs on the right a white cap arose, stepped in front of the car, and kowtowed.
"Most Honorable King of Chauffeurs," said he, "I have to report that I met the captive at the railroad station. He had claimed a couple of grips and sent them to a hotel by an expressman. I informed him that my name was Higgins and that I had something of importance to tell him about this fellow who calls himself Motor Matt. He swallowed the bait, hook, and all, and I brought him past the mouth of the alley. Aided by Numbers One, Two, and Four, we captured him easily."
Honk, honk!
"Very good, Number Three," said the King of Chauffeurs; "return to your station."
Number Three sat down.
"Py shiminy grickets!" cried the captive, who had been watching and listening with a good deal of amazement, "it looks like I vas Numper Nodding mit a douple cross alongsite!"
"Your name, captive?" demanded the man in the car.
"Carl Pretzel, Most Eggselent King oof der Sore Headts—"
Honk, honk!
"If the prisoner refers again to the head of this exalted society in such insulting terms, Warder, put a hole through him!"
This from the man in the car.
"Even so, Your Highness!" answered the Warder.
"You are the chum of the Big High Butter-in who calls himself Motor Matt?" proceeded the man in the car.
Carl's temper rushed to the surface.
"Don'd you make some insulding remarks neider!" he scowled. "Modor Matt don'd vas a putter-in! Und I peen his chum, efery tay und all der dime, yah, so helup me."
"Motor Matt came to Denver with Mr. James Q. Tomlinson, in Mr. Tomlinson's touring car, the Red Flier?" proceeded the man in the car.
"Vat iss it your pitzness?" demanded Carl.
"Motor Matt has come here to enter the racing field?" continued the other.
"Vell, he iss a pedder triver as anypody, und vy nod?"
"He intends to apply to Colonel Plympton for a place on the Stark-Frisbie staff of racers? He wants to drive a car in the race for the Bordon Cup?"
"I don'd say nodding. Vatefer Modor Matt toes, he vill do, und it vill be pedder oof you leaf him alone."
"Carl Pretzel," went on the man in the car sternly, "we have a line on this Motor Matt. He is the original Buttinsky. Wherever he goes he noses around for a place where he can meddle with other people's business. A week ago he was at his old tricks down in New Mexico, and—"
Carl jumped to his feet angrily.
"Sit down!" commanded the fellow at his side, jabbing him with the muzzle of the gun.
"Ven I ged goot und retty," fumed Carl, "I vill sot down, und nod pefore. I know vat I know, und I shpeak it oudt. Make some holes in me oof you vant, aber I don'd t'ink you haf der nerf to make holes in anypody. Modor Matt don'd vas a Puttinsky. Dis iss a free goundry, I bed you, und no fellers in nighdt-gowns iss going to make some fault-findings mit my chum, Modor Matt. Vat he do in New Mexico? Vy, he safe his friendt, Tick Verral, from being killed twice. Dot's vat he dit mit his putting-ins. I don'd shday here no more und lis'en to sooch talk vat you make. Vich iss der vay oudt? Oof you don'd led me go, py shinks I make you more drouples as I can dell!"
Carl started toward the door.
Honk, honk!
"Seize him, drivers!" called the man in the car. "Bind him, blindfold him, and place him in the car. Assisted by the Warder, I will carry him off. Remain here, the rest of you, until we return and go into executive session."
Carl was grabbed by all the white caps; then, after he had been thrown on the floor, his feet and hands were tied and a cloth was bound over his eyes.
"Pretzel," went on the voice of the man in the car, "we racing drivers are particular about those who enter our ranks. If Motor Matt attempts to race for the Borden Cup, he will never live to face the tape at the start. In your pocket, we will place a communication which you will deliver to him. It contains a threat and a warning. Let him ignore that letter at his peril."
"You fellers make me so dired as I don'd know!" stormed Carl, struggling to free himself. "Modor Matt don'd vas a kevitter. Vat you say don'd make no odds aboudt ter tifference. You vill know more vone oof dose tays dan vat you t'ink. Pah! You vas all a back oof gowards, und don'd haf der nerf to show your faces! Ven I dell Modor Matt vat—"
Honk, honk!
"Gag him, drivers, and lay him in the car!"
Something was pushed between Carl's lips and tied there. He still continued to splutter, but the sounds were muffled and the words indistinct.
He felt himself lifted and crumpled into the front of the roadster.
"Open the doors!" ordered the driver in the car. "Number One, crank up!"
Carl could hear the doors thrown ajar, and this noise was followed by the popping of the motor as the cylinders took the explosion.
"Remember what I say, drivers," called the leader of the gang, "and wait here for us to return. We have plans to consider."
Then the car moved off on the low gear. Carl felt it turn through the entrance and chuggety-chug up an incline; another turn and they were in the alley, another and they were in the street. After that, for a few minutes, the vehicle flew swiftly. Presently it halted, Carl's ropes were stripped away, and he was thrown out.
Stumbling to his knees, he began frantically jerking off the cloth that covered his eyes, and the gag that interfered with his speech.
The tail light of the roadster was just vanishing around a corner. Carl shook his fist after the car and got to his feet, saying things to himself.
His novel experience had dazed him. It was all so unreal that it seemed like a dream.
Still muttering to himself, he made his way to the sidewalk, found a policeman, inquired his way to the Clifton House, and set out hurriedly to find Motor Matt and report.
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