Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER VIII.

  MATT INTERVIEWS TRUEMAN.

  Ottawa is as pretty a little town as there is in all Kansas. Thestreets are wide, and level, and shaded, and through the town runsthe historic Marais des Cygnes, the "river of swans"--so named by theancient French explorers.

  At this time the eyes of the Western automobile world were turned uponthat part of Kansas, and representatives of more than a dozen alertmotor-car manufacturers were located in Ottawa, all busily preparingfor the great race.

  Long, lean racing-cars darted through the streets, passing back andforth between the town and Forest Park. From in front of the grandstand in the park the race was to start, describe a fifty-two milecircuit out across the prairie country and return to the race track.

  The race was to be six times around the circuit, comprising a totaldistance of three hundred and twelve miles.

  Were the Bly-Lambert people to keep the Borden cup, or wouldStark-Frisbie take it away from them?

  This was the all-important topic, and was under discussion everywhere.None of the other contestants seemed to be considered. Everybody, frompast performances on the Western racing field, seemed to think that noone else had a chance.

  Matt and Carl reached Ottawa in the early morning. As soon as they hadwashed the stains of travel from their faces and eaten their breakfastthey sallied forth to take in the situation at close quarters.

  Each contestant had a garage of his own. In these garages the racingmachines were jealously guarded, and about the cars the mechanics wereconstantly tinkering, making changes here and there as the experienceof the drivers continued to suggest.

  Only actual trials over the course could show what was needed and whatwas superfluous, and since the weight of each car must be limited,great care had to be exercised in making changes.

  By inquiring of people they met, the boys learned that theStark-Frisbie people had their garage across the river, in NorthOttawa, while the Bly-Lambert folks were as far away in the other partof town as they could get.

  The racing talk was in evidence everywhere, the merits and demeritsof the various machines giving cause for many warm arguments. Therewas something about the talk, the sight of the darting cars, and thegeneral air of suppressed excitement that got into the blood. Carl wasbubbling over with enthusiasm, and Matt, stirred as he had never beenbefore, was more than ever determined that he would be in the race.

  Twenty-one cars had been entered. Among them were several touring cars,their owners being willing to pay the entrance fee just to gratifytheir sporting instinct--for no touring car could ever win againstthose high-powered racers, stripped for action and ready to hurlthemselves over the course with every ounce of power in their cylinders.

  "Py chimineddy!" expanded Carl, "I vish dot I knowed der carburettorfrom der shpark-plug. Oof I dit, I bed you I vould be in der racingsmeinseluf."

  Matt's particular desire was to locate Trueman, of the JarrotAutomobile Company. He found him at last in a little private garagebelonging to one of the wealthy residents of the place. The door of thegarage was wide open, and the nose of a red racer could be seen inside.Excited voices could be heard coming from within the garage.

  "Confound your superstitions!" cried an angry voice. "If you happento walk under a ladder on the day of the race, Glick, I suppose youwouldn't drive for me, eh?"

  "I'll be careful about doing that when the race is pulled off,Trueman," returned another voice. "Luck plays the biggest kind of apart in a game like this, and I don't intend to hoodoo myself by takingthe car out on Friday. We've already been over the course four times,and what's the use of going over it again to-day?"

  "Every time the course is gone over it helps you just that much. Takingthe race from Stark-Frisbie and Bly-Lambert is no cinch. We have onlyone car in the race and they have three each. But this red racer ofours can win, providing you learn the course well enough. Will you goout?"

  "I'll go out of the garage and back to the hotel," and a slim, lightlybuilt young fellow came through the doorway, paused to light acigarette, and then moved off toward the main street.

  A stout man of about forty, in automobile cap and coat, stepped to thedoor and glared after the retreating driver. He was greatly wroughtup, and started to say something but bit the words off short. Whenthe driver reached the sidewalk and vanished nonchalantly around abuilding, the man in the garage door turned his eyes on Matt and Carl.

  "Of all the superstitious fools that ever lived," he cried wrathfully,"I think that man Glick takes the bun. He can handle a car better thanany man I ever saw, but here he hangs up our day's work simply becausethis happens to be Friday!"

  "Are you Mr. Trueman, of the Jarrot Company?" asked Matt.

  "My name, yes, sir," and Trueman gave Matt a more careful sizing.

  "Well, I'm a driver. Why not let me take you over the course?"

  Trueman shook his head.

  "We were going over it for Glick's benefit," said he, "not mine. Whoare you, young man, and where do you come from?"

  Matt introduced himself, and presented Carl.

  "Have you ever driven a racing-car?" asked Trueman, the boy's bearingand talk impressing him more and more.

  "No," replied Matt, "but I'm confident I could do it. I've had a lot todo with gasoline-motors, and I've driven a good many cars."

  "Come in here and look at this one," said Trueman. "Properly driven,I'll bet money we have a car that can walk away from anythingStark-Frisbie or Bly-Lambert have in the race."

  Matt walked into the garage and looked over the red racer. It wasa chain-driven, ninety-horse-power machine, and had the savage"get-there" look of a car that, run to the limit, could be made to win.

  "Glick knows how I depend on him," remarked Trueman, "so he does aboutas he pleases. We're giving him a thousand dollars to make the race,and a bonus of two thousand if he wins. If he doesn't spill the salt,or meet a cross-eyed man, or run into a post, he'll stand up under thestrain and acquit himself in good shape."

  "I don't want to take any man's job away from him, Mr. Trueman," saidMatt, "but if anything happens that Glick doesn't make the race, I'dlike a chance to show you what I can do."

  But still Trueman shook his head.

  "You've never been in a race, King," said he, "and while you may know acar from A to Izzard, yet driving fifteen hundred pounds of machineryto win is an altogether different proposition. However, you might takeme out in the racer and let me see what you can do. We won't go overthe course, but will ride out south of town. Just a half-hour's spin,that's all."

  Matt twisted the crank and was pleased with the quickness with whichthe cylinders caught the explosion. Trueman had already got into themechanic's seat, and Matt lost no time in climbing in beside him.

  "Wait for me here, Carl," said he, as the racer glided out of thegarage.

  Unless there is a certain sympathy between the driver and the machinehe controls, it is impossible to get out of a car all that is in it. Inmost cases this bond between driver and car has to be acquired by longand patient practise with the same machine; but, in rare instances, adriver, the instant he places himself at the steering wheel, is ableto get completely _en rapport_ with the complicated engine under hiscontrol. Drivers of this sort are born, not made--and Matt King was oneof them.

  During that half-hour's spin over the flat country south of Ottawa,Motor Matt aroused Trueman's outspoken admiration. There were stretcheswhere Matt drove at the highest rate of speed, where he roundeddangerous corners with the skill of a master-hand, and the clutch wentin and gears were changed so swiftly and smoothly that no jarring notebroke the steady humming of the cylinders.

  "You're a crack-a-jack!" averred Trueman when they were once moreheaded through town for the garage; "but going out on a little junketlike this is vastly different from racing."

  "I don't believe I'd get rattled if there were racing-cars all aroundme," returned Matt with a quiet laugh.

  While the car was being put back in the garage Trueman
was silent andthoughtful. When the throb of the machinery was finally stilled, andthe two got out of the car, Trueman turned to clap Matt on the shoulder.

  "I'm going to keep you in reserve," said he. "If Glick kicks over thetraces, and throws up his hands, I may fall back on you as a lastresort."

  "Meanwhile," returned Matt, "I'm going to be on the look-out for a car.I'm going to be in that race, and if I have a chance you can't blame mefor taking it."

  "Not at all, not at all. I like your driving, though, and if I wassure you wouldn't lose your head with cars all around you and dust sothick you can't see the bonnet, I don't know but I----" He broke offreflectively. "Well," he finished, "we'll see what happens."

  Matt and Carl drifted back through the town. Several cars were justcoming in from the circuit, their drivers and mechanics begrimed withdust and oil.

  "It vas a gredt game, I bed you!" breathed Carl. "I hope dot dersuberstitious feller meeds oop mit a plack cat or somet'ing, so dot youged his chob, Matt."

  "I'm going to race for somebody," answered Matt, "even if I have to goover the course in a touring car. I never had the fever like I've gotit now."

  "Me, neider," grinned Carl. "Led's go pack to der hodel und hunt forsome tinner."

  That afternoon the two chums passed quietly on the hotel porch,listening to the racing talk that was going on all around them. Itwas about five o'clock when a boy came hurriedly to the hotel anddisappeared inside the office. A few moments later the clerk came outof the office and gave Matt a letter.

  "That's for you, Mr. King," said the clerk. "The boy says he's waitingfor your answer."

  Matt tore open the letter and read as follows:

  "KING: Places were drawn for the start this afternoon, and, as luck (or ill-luck) would have it, I got Number Thirteen. That's the number that goes on the car. Glick refuses to race. Can I depend on you, same terms Glick was to receive? Answer yes or no, quick.

  "TRUEMAN."

  Motor Matt's heart gave a bound, and a thrill ran through his nerves.Turning to the boy who was standing beside his chair, he cried, "TellMr. Trueman he can depend on me, and that my answer is yes!"

  At just that moment a party with their grips in their hands wereascending the steps to the porch.

  They were Sercomb, and the others, who had been left in the tool-housein Dodge City. Each of them gave Matt and Carl a sour look as hetramped on into the hotel.