Motor Matt's Prize; or, The Pluck That Wins

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER VII.

  GATHERING CLOUDS.

  Much to the relief of Matt, McGlory and Lorry, the Chinese boy had notencountered intruders. His trouble was of quite another sort.

  In order to watch all sides of the boathouse, he had been trampingaround three of its walls, from the waterfront on one side to thewaterfront on the other. The day was hot and the exertion tiring. Ping,after some reflection, conceived the brilliant idea of climbing to theroof and watching from the ridgepole.

  An elevated position of that kind would enable him to rest and keepeyes on the vicinity in every direction.

  Some empty boxes, piled one on the other, lifted him high enough toreach the eaves. Kicking off his sandals, he took the slope of the roofin his stocking feet and was soon by the flagstaff that arose from oneend of the peak on the waterside of the building.

  A timber, equipped with rope and tackle, projected outward from thepeak. For no particular reason, other than to test his agility, Pinglowered himself astride the projecting timber and hitched outward tothe end.

  Here a sudden gust of wind struck him. Lifting both hands to save hishat, he lost his balance and rolled sidewise off the timber. But hedid not fall. His trousers caught in the stout iron hook by which thepulley was suspended; and, when Matt, McGlory and Lorry finally locatedhim, he was sprawling in midair, badly scared, but as yet unhurt.

  "Motol Matt," howled the youngster, "savee Ping! No lettee fall! Woosh!"

  "Sufferin' heathens!" gasped McGlory. "How in the name of Bob did theChink ever get in that fix?"

  That was no time to guess about the cause. If Ping's clothing was togive way he would suffer a bad fall on the planks of the boathousepier. Pulling the tackle rope from the cleat to which it was fastened,Matt climbed hand over hand to the projecting timber.

  "Catch hold of my shoulders, Ping," he ordered.

  Ping's arms went around him in a life-and-death grip. Then, supportinghimself with one hand, Matt detached the Chinaman from the hook withthe other and both slid to the pier in safety.

  "You gave us a scare, Ping," said Matt. "We didn't know but you hadfound some one sneaking around the boathouse. How did you get in thatfix?"

  Ping explained, and the boys had a good laugh. Shortly afterward Lorrydragged his motor cycle to the top of the bank and chugged away home.

  It was about two o'clock when Newt Higgins, the young machinist,arrived with the new motor. His father had brought him across. Theengine was unloaded by means of the block and tackle and carried inside.

  While Higgins was taking the old motor out of the _Sprite_, Mattconnected up the new one with gasoline tank and battery and got it togoing. It ran perfectly.

  From that time on there were several days of feverish activity inthe boathouse. The hull of the _Sprite_ had to be strengthened. Theoriginal motor had been installed on short bearers, which, according toMatt's view, was entirely wrong. The motor bed, he held, must be rigidand the vibration distributed over as great an area as possible.

  A heavy bed was put down, and on this two girders were laid, shapedup to take the rake of the motor and tapering off at the ends. Thesegirders extended as far forward and aft as the curve of the hull wouldallow.

  Lining up the shaft was an operation which Matt attended to himself.This job gave some trouble, but was finally finished to hissatisfaction.

  The new engine was set farther aft than the old one had been. Thisenabled Matt to bring the gasoline tanks farther aft, as well. Thehood had to be made longer, and a stout bulkhead was built between theengine space and the cockpit.

  All controls were to be on the bulkhead. The electric outfit was placedclose to the motor, where it would be protected from wet and dampnessby the hood. In addition to this, the eight cells of the battery wereinclosed in a box and filled around with paraffine.

  The hull had already been covered with canvas, given two coats of leadand oil and rubbed down. The last thing would be a coat of spar varnish.

  Saturday night Matt dismissed the machinist.

  "I wish I knew as much about motors as you do," the machinist had saidas he pocketed his pay. "You're Class A, Motor Matt, and you've givenLorry a boat that'll win. I'm goin' to see that race. The Yahara boysare on our lake, you know, and this part o' town is with 'em to a man.It's surprisin' how this section of town is set on havin' the Yaharaclub get back the cup."

  "We're going to do our best, Newt," Matt had answered, "and you'll seea pretty race, no matter how it comes out."

  "You bet you!" averred Newt. "Good-by and good luck, Matt. I'd betickled if we could work together all the time."

  During the work McGlory had made himself generally useful. He could runthe small launch which Lorry had brought to the boathouse for Matt'suse, and whenever there were any errands across the lake not requiringMatt's attention at the machine shop McGlory attended to them.

  Ping proved to be a good cook, and prepared the meals on a gasolinestove. When he was not busy in the culinary department he was guardingthe boathouse against prowlers.

  The boathouse was nicely situated for the work Matt and his friendswere doing. There were no other boathouses for half a mile or moreon either side of it, and the steep banks by which it was surroundedon every side but toward the water gave it an isolation which hadcommended it to Matt and Lorry.

  It had not been used for some time when Lorry had leased it from theowner, but was in a very good state of repair for all that.

  It contained a well which opened directly into a protected cove. Anincline fitted with rollers made it easy to launch a boat or to haulit out upon the floor. The water door came down to the lake level, andboth door and well were wide enough to admit a craft of eight-feet beam.

  During all these days of work Ping had not detected a single personskulking around in the boathouse's vicinity. Matt worked until lateevery night, and there was always some one on guard on the outside fromsunset till sunrise. Generally it was McGlory, but occasionally Lorrywould come over and insist that the cowboy should sleep while he didthe sentry duty.

  It was nine o'clock Saturday night when Matt finished with the varnishcoat and, dropping his brush, stood back to look at the trim, shadowylines of the boat.

  "She's a beauty, Matt, and no mistake," called some one from the door.

  "Hello, George!" answered Matt, turning to place the lamp on theworkbench and scrubbing his hands with a bunch of waste. "She'll do, Ithink. Anyhow, the _Dart_ won't run any rings around us."

  "You must be about fagged," said Lorry as Matt dropped down on his cotby the wall. "You've worked like a galley slave, and if we win theprize it will be all owing to you."

  "I'm tired, and that's a fact," Matt answered, "but I've got some goodfeelings in me, as my old Dutch pard used to say. If a fellow's mind iseasy it doesn't matter so much about his body."

  "I came over to see if you'd heard anything from our friends the enemyyet," said Lorry.

  "They haven't peeped," Matt laughed. "I guess they've decided to let usalone."

  "Don't you think that for a minute," returned Lorry earnestly. "Mertonand his pals have been lying low, but the clouds have been gathering.The storm will break before Tuesday, and I'm wondering and worrying asto how it is going to hit us."

  "We'll weather it," said Matt lightly, "no matter what shape it takes.It's a cinch that Merton hasn't been able to find out a thing aboutwhat we've been doing. That roll of drawings is all he has to base anopinion on, and the _Sprite_ is as different from those plans as youcan well imagine. We've fooled Merton to the queen's taste."

  "And probably he thinks he has fooled us," smiled Lorry.

  "Have you been able to discover anything about the _Dart_?"

  "Not a thing. The Winnequas are guarding her as though she was a lumpof gold. But there are hair-raising tales, all over town, of thetremendous speed a new boat on Third Lake is showing."

  "The _Wyandotte_ hasn't been kicking up the water around the point fora couple of days now."

  "I guess Mer
ton thinks we're so busy here we won't pay any attention toher. Ever since he stopped sending the _Wyandotte_ to Fourth Lake hehas been speeding the _Dart_ in the evening on Third."

  "Well, Merton's consistent, anyhow, no matter what else you can sayabout him."

  "I've got orders from dad and sis to take you over to Yankee Hill tospend to-night and Sunday," said Lorry, after a slight pause. "Will yougo?"

  "Sorry, old chap, but I can't," Matt answered regretfully. "I'm goingto be Johnny-on-the-spot right here in this boathouse till the _Sprite_leaves to enter the race. I'm not taking any chances with her."

  "But can't McGlory and Ping look after the boat?"

  "They can, yes, and there isn't anybody I'd trust quicker than I wouldMcGlory; but, if anything should happen to the _Sprite_ between now andTuesday, I want to be the one who's to blame."

  "I guess I know how you stack up," observed Lorry, with a touch ofgenuine feeling. "You're doing a whole lot for me, Matt, and my folksknow it and appreciate it just as much as I do. I hope I can pay youback some time."

  "Nonsense, George!" deprecated Matt. "Do you think there isn't anyfun in this thing for me? I've enjoyed myself every minute I've beentinkering with the _Sprite_, and the best part of it all will come whenI show the _Dart_ the way across the finish line next Tuesday."

  Half an hour later Lorry got into his hired launch and started forhome. All was quiet and peaceable in the boathouse, but, even then, astorm of trouble was preparing to break--a storm that was to try thethree friends to the uttermost and to come within a hair's breadth ofruining their prospects in the power-boat contest.