CHAPTER IX.
MATT SHOWS HIS COLORS.
Looking down on Matt and Chub from one of the walls were four linescarefully printed on a big white card. It was Matt's work, theprinting; and the four lines had been in his room at Uncle Jonas King'sin the old house in the Berkshires.
"Let me win if I may when the game's afoot; Let me master my Fate when I choose her: Playing square with myself in the fight, my boy, If I fail let me be a good loser."
From Chub's triumphant face, Matt's eyes wandered to the lines on thecard and dwelt there for a time.
"I guess you can't get around that rabbit's foot, Matt," said Chub,"and I guess Major Woolford can't, either. Clip has been settled onfor the mile race with Prescott this year same as he was last, but youtake it from me the major won't have anything to do with him when Ishow him that rabbit's foot and tell him where I found it. And maybe,"finished Chub, "he'll scratch Dace Perry's entry, too, for it's a deadopen-and-shut they were both in this. Perry, though, didn't figure onhaving your wheel jump across in front of his and cause a smash-up."
Matt, with that rabbit's-foot charm as an eye-opener, saw through thewhole dastardly proceeding. Crafty Dace Perry was egging Clipperton on,thus "playing even" with Matt at little cost to himself.
"What did Perry hope to gain by having Clip shoot a bullet into mytire?" queried Matt musingly.
"If you'd taken a header from the bicycle, and broken a leg or an arm,that would have put you out of the running. Perry would have been cockof the walk in the bike event, and Clip could have soothed himself withthe reflection that he'd squared up for that rocky deal he thought yougave him this morning. But we can fix 'em! Let's go and have a talkwith the major, Matt."
In his eagerness Chub reached for his hat.
"I guess we won't," said Matt.
"Shucks!" gasped Chub; "you're not going to show up that pair and make'em take their medicine?"
"I'm not going to give Tom Clipperton a black eye when Perry isthe one most to blame, and when the whole thing is the result of amisunderstanding. We can't say anything about Perry without bringingClip into it. And I'm not sure," Matt added, "that it's advisable toair the thing, anyway. All Prescott would be tickled to hear of thebickering, and every person in Phoenix who loves clean sport would bedisgusted. I'll take care of the rabbit's foot, and we'll let the wholematter rest and not tell any one anything about it. You've kept quietso far, haven't you, Chub?"
"Yes, mum as a church mouse; why, I didn't even tell Susie or Perk. Ihad a mind to bat it up to Clip, Perry and the rest when I tackled 'emon the way from the track, but thought I hadn't better. The whole gangmight have jumped me and taken the rabbit's foot away. But, look here.You don't mean this, do you?"
"You bet I do mean it, Chub. If you're a chum of mine you'll do as Itell you."
Chub heaved a sigh like a boiler-explosion. "Another spoke in littleChub's wheel," he muttered. "There's never any telling which way you'regoing to jump, Matt, or how. You know what Perry is. Professor Todddon't know he's mixing with Dirk Hawley, the gambler, and fellows ofthat sort; but he is, and he's going wrong."
Matt recalled what the major had said concerning Perry, and about thelittle confidence he had in him. Was this because Perry associated withblacklegs, and particularly with Dirk Hawley?
"What Perry is doing doesn't make any difference with what we're to do,Chub," said Matt. "Clip is only a tool of Perry's, and some day he'sgoing to find out how he's being made a catspaw. When that time comes,Perry will have a little trouble on his own hands."
"All right, Matt," said Chub, getting up, "have it your own way. It'spretty near supper-time, and I've got to hike. Will you be over thisevening? Maybe I'll get into communication with Delray, up at theBluebell."
"If I get time I may run over," answered Matt, "but don't look for me."
Just as Chub was about to lay his hand on the door-knob a knock fellon the panel. He opened the door and found Mrs. Spooner, the landlady,outside. There was an odd look on Mrs. Spooner's face.
"There's a man down-stairs as wants to see Matt," said she. "He come inone of them gasoline wagons, an' Matt may be as surprised to hear as Iam to tell him that it's--_Hawley, the gambler_!"
Mrs. Spooner's voice sank to a frightened whisper.
"Dirk Hawley!" muttered Chub, staring at Matt. "Sugar, what in tunketcan the blackleg want with you?"
Matt was as much surprised as were Mrs. Spooner and Chub. He did noteven know the man, although he had seen him many times, and had heard agood deal about him that was not to his credit.
"I'm puzzled to know why he's coming to see me," muttered Matt, takinga look at the motor-car through the window. "Have him walk up, Mrs.Spooner, and I'll find out what he wants."
Chub hesitated a moment as though he would like to stay for theinterview, but finally he left, passing Hawley on the stairs.
Dirk Hawley owned one of the largest gambling-dens in Phoenix, and wasreputed to be worth a mint of money. He wore fierce diamonds, had aracing-stable and cut a wide swath among the gambling fraternity. Hestepped blandly into Matt's room, and took his sizing for a moment withkeen, shifty eyes.
"You don't know me, I reckon," said he loudly, "but it's dollars todoughnuts I ain't a stranger to you for all that. Ask anybody andthey'll tell you Dirk Hawley's a good sport to tie to. Rise to that?Dirk Hawley never goes back on his friends. I've come here to getacquainted with you, King, and to make a friend of you." He put out hishand. "Shake," he added.
"I don't care to shake," answered Matt. "We're not traveling the sameway, Mr. Hawley, and I don't know what good it would do for us to getacquainted."
Hawley drew down the lid of his right eye and chuckled.
"No? Well, there's nothing flatterin' about that, but I like yourfrankness, hang me if I don't. Now, I'm going to drop down in one ofthese nice easy chairs and tell you just how much more I can do for youin a day than Woolford could in a month."
Picking out the biggest chair, he sank into it; then, extracting agold-mounted cigar-case from his pocket, he extended it toward Matt.Matt shook his head. Hawley chuckled again, extracted a fat cigar andslowly lighted it.
"I'm no hand for beating about the bush, King," he proceeded, studyingthe lad as he talked; "when I know what I want, I go right ahead andmake my play, straight from the shoulder. Ain't that right? Sure. Now,I reckon you know I ain't one of these goody-goody sports. Woolfordplays the racing-game for the game itself, but I play it for that--andfor somethin' else. If it was only the game that made a hit with me,I wouldn't be ridin' around in a ten-thousand-dollar motor-car, ormakin' a pleasure out o' business, same as I do. Understand? Who wasit started Paddy Lee, the fastest hundred-an'-twenty-yard man thatever come down the cinder-path? Why, me. I discovered Paddy, and he'sover in England now, taking money away from the Britishers hand overfist. Candy, just candy. Now, say, mebby you ain't next, but I've beenwatchin' you ever since you hit Phoenix. That's right. I've got an eyefor a likely youngster, and if you want a friend to push you, for apart of the stakes you can pull down, why not try me out? This is thefirst time I ever went at a man like this--mostly, they come to me,an' are tickled to death if I take any notice of 'em. But here I am,flat-footed, askin' you to let me take your athletic future in myhands and make you a world-beater. What do you say?"
Matt was not expecting anything like this. For a moment it took hisbreath. Misinterpreting the boy's silence, Hawley fairly radiatedgenial confidence.
"Catchin' on, first clatter out of the box!" he murmured admiringly."Always knew you had a head on you. And what good's a runner or abicycle-racer without a head? Tush! From the minute a chap is on hismark till he comes in a winner, he has to use his brains as well as hisheels. Now, King, if you and I hook up, it's a professional I'm goingto make you; see? You'll go in for big things and shake the biggestplum-tree. My idees o' what's right and proper, though, have got togovern. You're a young hand, while I cut my teeth on a hand-book at theSheepshead races. I become yo
ur manager, right from the snap of thepistol, and I begin by keepin' you out of small-fry contests. You can'trace in the Phoenix-Prescott meet. I'll just send you to a friend o'mine up in Denver to put you in trainin' for a big bicycle-race at theColiseum in Chicago; an' jest to ease up your feelin's for scratchin'your entry in the Phoenix-Prescott side-show, I tucks five hundred ofthe long green in your little hand and sends you north to-morrow. Whatsay?"
Matt was "stumped." The longer Hawley talked the more astounded Mattbecame. Just what Hawley wanted to do with him the boy did not know,but he gleaned enough to understand that he'd have to turn his backon a whole bunch of cherished "principles" if he fell in with thegambler's desires.
"I guess you've got into the wrong pew, Mr. Hawley," remarked Matt. "Ihaven't any desire to help you shake plum-trees, and if I ever wentinto racing for a business you're the last man I'd pick out to see methrough."
"Ain't my money as good as anybody else's?" flared Hawley, losing someof his amiability.
"I'm not talking about money. What I want to say is that you and Ican't hitch up worth a cent."
"That's how you stack up, is it?" returned Hawley. "Well, lookhere"--he drew a roll of bills out of his pocket--"there's five hundredin that roll and it's all yours if you go to Denver to-morrow and staythere for a month."
Matt had a thought just then that touched him like a live wire.
"You're trying to keep me out of that Phoenix-Prescott contest, Mr.Hawley," said he, with a square look into the gambler's eyes. "Whatsort of an ax have you got to grind, anyhow?"
Dirk Hawley got up, shoved the roll of bills into his pocket, and movedto the door.
"You're too wise for your own good, my bantam," he sneered. "Perrypretty near hits it off in what he tells me about you. If you thinkyou're going to ride in that bicycle-race you've got another guesscoming. Just paste that in your little hat and keep your eye on it."
Then, with an angry splutter, Dirk Hawley let himself out of the roomand slammed the door. A few moments later Matt heard his big motor-carpuffing away from the curb.
Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel Page 9
