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

by Stanley R. Matthews

  CHAPTER XV.

  THE FINISH.

  The doctor's guess was a good one. The excitement of that race wasexactly what Motor Matt needed. It was a tonic, and from the momenthe had entered the _Sprite_ in the Yahara Club boathouse, he was theMile-a-Minute Matt of motor cycle and automobile days. His nerves werelike steel wires, his brain was steady, and his eye keen and true.

  There was a good deal of vibration--much more, in fact, than Matt hadreally thought there would be. The more power used up in vibration, theless power delivered at the wheel. But what would the vibration havebeen if he had not exercised so much care in preparing the engine's bed?

  Perfectly oblivious of the spectators, and with eyes only for hiscourse, Matt saw nothing and no one apart from the boundary buoys,until he turned the _Sprite_ for the start. Then, while waiting for thestarting gun, he caught a glimpse of the taunting face of Ollie Merton.

  "Fooled you, eh?" called Merton. "You'll do sixteen miles, at yourbest, and we'll go over twenty."

  Motor Matt did not reply. If Merton had only known what was under thehood of the _Sprite_, his gibe would never have been uttered.

  As they passed the stake boat side by side, Merton and Halloran beganto suspect something. The _Sprite_ hung to them too persistently for asixteen-mile-an-hour boat.

  "He's got something in that boat of his," breathed Halloran, "that wedon't know anything about."

  "Confound him!" snorted Merton, enraged at the very suspicion. "If hefools us with any of his low-down tricks, I'll fix him before he leavesthat made-over catamaran of his."

  "You'll treat him white, Merton, win or lose," scowled Halloran.

  "Then you see to it that you win!" said Merton.

  Along the double line of boats rushed the racers. The waves tossed upfrom the bows rose high, creamed into froth, and the spray drifted andeddied around Matt, Halloran, and Merton. At the edge of the lane, thecraft of the sightseers rocked with the heave the flying boats kickedup.

  Halfway between the stake boats the _Dart_ began to draw ahead. A shoutof exultation went up from Merton.

  "Good boy, Halloran! In another minute we'll show him our heels."

  But what Matt lost on the outward stretch of the course he more thanmade up at the turn around the stake boat. The shorter length of the_Sprite_ enabled her to be brought around with more facility, and shecame to on the inner side and was reaching for the home-stretch whenthe _Dart_ got pointed for the straight-away.

  The hum of the engine was like a crooning song of victory in Matt'sears. He _knew_ he was going to win; he felt it in his bones.

  Halloran's juggling with gasoline and spark brought the _Dart_ slowlyalongside and gave her the lead by half a length.

  But still Matt did not waver. He could juggle a little with themake-and-break ignition and the fuel supply himself. His brain was fullof calculations. He knew where he was at every minute of the race, andhe knew just when to begin making the throbbing motor spin the wheel atits maximum.

  The rack of the hull was tremendous. It seemed to grow instead of tolessen.

  Would the hull stand the strain with the engine urging the wheel at itsbest?

  It _must_ stand the strain! The crisis was at hand and there wasnothing else for it.

  Hugging the steering wheel with his body, Matt's left hand toyed withswitch and lever. The yacht at the finish line was in plain view.

  Matt did not see the waving hats or fluttering handkerchiefs, nor didhe hear the bedlam of yells that went up on every side. All he saw wasthe _Dart_, his eye marking the gain of the _Sprite_.

  It was already apparent to Ollie Merton and Halloran that the racewas lost--_unless something unexpected happened to Motor Matt or theSprite_.

  Halloran was getting the last particle of speed out of the _Dart's_engine, and steadily, relentlessly, the _Sprite_ was creeping ahead.

  Deep down in Merton's soul a desperate purpose was fighting with hisbetter nature. Suddenly the evil got the upper hand. Merton waited, hissinister face full of relentless determination.

  "When the _Sprite_ takes the lead," he said to himself, "something isgoing to happen."

  In one minute more Matt forged ahead. The finish line was close now,and Merton was already stung with the bitterness of defeat.

  His hand reached inside his sweater. When it was withdrawn, a revolvercame with it.

  Why Merton had brought that revolver with him, he alone could tell. Itmay have been for some such purpose as this.

  Matt's back was toward Merton, and Matt's eyes were peering steadilyahead.

  If that left hand could be touched--just scratched--the king of themotor boys would be powerless to manage the _Sprite_.

  Many of the spectators saw the leveling of the weapon. Cries of"Coward!" and "Shame!" and "Stop him!" went up from a hundred throats.

  Mr. Merton, watching breathlessly, saw the glimmering revolver, andsomething very like a sob rushed through his lips as he bowed his head.What those who saw felt for his son, _he_ felt for him--and for himself.

  Before Merton could press the trigger, Halloran turned partly around.

  "You're mad!" shouted Halloran, gripping Merton's wrist with a defthand and shoving the point of the revolver high in the air.

  Unaware of his narrow escape, the king of the motor boys flung the_Sprite_ onward to victory.

  A good half-length ahead of the _Dart_, Matt and his boat crossed thefinish line--regaining the De Lancey cup for the Yahara Club, winningthe race for George Lorry and gaining untold honors for himself.

  The lake went wild; and the enthusiasm spilled over its edges and ranriot along the shores. Steam launches tooted their sirens, and motorboats emptied their compressed air tanks through their toy whistles;the band played, but there was so much other noise that it was notheard. The Yaharas and their partisans went wild.

  Somewhere in that jumble of humanity was Newt Higgins, adding hisjoyful clamor to the roar of delight; and somewhere, also, was thedoctor, letting off the steam of his pent-up excitement.

  But there was one man on the stake boat whose heart was heavy, who hadno word for any one but his wife. To her he offered his arm.

  "Come," said he, in a stifled voice, "this is no place for us. Let usgo."

  Matt, as soon as he had checked the speed of the _Sprite_ and pointedher the other way, jogged back along the line of boats and picked Lorryand McGlory off one of the launches.

  Lorry was radiant.

  "You've done it, old boy!" he cried. "By Jupiter! you've done it. Yousit down and take it easy--I'll look after the _Sprite_!"

  "Speak to me about this!" whooped McGlory, throwing his arms aroundMatt in a bear's hug. "Oh, recite this to me, in years to come, and theblood will bound through my veins with all the--er--the---- Hang it,pard, you know what I mean! I've gone off the jump entirely. Hooray forMotor Matt!"

  As Lorry laid the _Sprite_ alongside the stake boat, somebody tossedher a line.

  "Come aboard, all of you," called a voice.

  It was Spicer, commodore of the Yahara Club.

  While Matt, Lorry, and McGlory were going up one side of the yacht, Mr.and Mrs. Merton were descending the other, getting into the boat thatwas to take them ashore to their waiting automobile.

  Mr. Lorry, red as a beet, his collar wilted, his high hat on the backof his head, and his necktie around under his ear, met the victors,giving one hand to Matt and the other to George.

  "Jove!" he said huskily, "I've yelled myself hoarse. Oh, but it wasfine!"

  Ethel threw her arms around Matt's neck and gave him a hearty kiss.

  "Nice way to treat a one-armed fellow that can't defend himself,"whooped McGlory; "and sick, at that. He ought to be in bed, thisminute--the doctor said so!"

  "I--I thought it was George," faltered Ethel.

  "Oh, bang!" howled McGlory. "It's a wonder you didn't think it was me."

  The vice commodore of the Winnequa Club came forward, carrying thesilver cup in both hands. He looked sad enough, but h
e was game.

  In a neat little speech, during which he emphasized the sportsman-likeconduct which should prevail at all such events as the one that hadjust passed, he tendered the cup to Lorry. Lorry, blushing withpleasure, in turn tendered it to the commodore of the Yahara Club.

  One of the judges, coming forward with an oblong slip of paper in hishands, waved it to command silence. When a measure of quiet prevailed,he eased himself of a few pertinent remarks.

  "Gentlemen, there was another supplementary prize offered in thiscontest. Unlike the De Lancey cup, which may be fought for again nextyear, this additional prize inheres to the victor for so long as hecan keep it by him. It is not for the owner of the boat, but to thegallant youth who presided at the steering wheel and bore the brunt ofthe battle. Had the _Dart_ won, this extra prize would have gone toHalloran, just as surely as it now goes to Motor Matt. It consists of acheck for two thousand dollars, place for the name blank, and signed byMr. Daniel Lorry. There you are, son," and the judge pushed the checkinto the hand of the astounded Matt.

  "Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "I--I---- Well, I hardly knowwhat to say. I was in the game for the love of it, and--and I was notexpecting this!"

  "That was dad's idea," said Ethel happily.

  "Bully for the governor!" cried George, grabbing his father's hand."Why, I didn't know anything about this, myself."

  "It was a 'dark horse,'" chuckled Mr. Lorry. "Come on, now, and let'sgo home and get out of this hubbub. Matt, you and McGlory will comewith us. We're going to have a spread."