MOTOR STORIES

Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C., by Street & Smith, 79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York, N. Y.

Motor Matt's Hard Luck

OR,

THE BALLOON-HOUSE PLOT.

By the author of "MOTOR MATT."

CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.

Matt King, concerning whom there has always been a mystery—a lad of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of "Mile-a-minute Matt." Carl Pretzel, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness. Dick Ferral, a Canadian boy and a favorite of Uncle Jack; has served his time in the King's navy, and bobs up in New Mexico where he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life. Helen Brady, Hector Brady's daughter, who helps Motor Matt. Hector Brady, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from Hamilton Jerrold. His air ship is called the Hawk and is used for criminal purposes. Brady's attempt to secure Motor Matt's services as driver of the Hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang. Hamilton Jerrold, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to aëronautics, and who has built a successful air ship called the Eagle. Jameson, a rich member of the Aëro Club, who thinks of buying the Hawk.

Whipple, Pete, Grove, Harper, members of Brady's gang who carried out the "balloon-house plot," which nearly resulted in a tragedy, and finally proved the complete undoing of Hector Brady. Ochiltree, an ex-convict whose past record nearly got him into trouble. Harris, a policeman of South Chicago who aids Motor Matt in his work against the Bradys. Dennison and Twitchell, police officers of Grand Haven, Michigan, who take a part in the final capture of Brady.

CHAPTER I.

AN OLD FRIEND.

"Py chimineddy!" muttered Carl Pretzel to himself, starting up on the couch, where he had been snatching forty winks by way of passing the time. "Vat's dot? Der voice has some familiar sounds mit me. Lisden vonce."

A loud, jovial voice floated in through the open window, a voice with a swing to it that set Carl's nerves in a flutter.

The roaring song had come closer and closer. By then it was almost under the open window. Jumping from the couch, Carl ran across the room and looked out.

A youth of seventeen or eighteen, wearing a sailor rig and with his hat cocked over one eye, was lurching along with both hands in his pockets. Behind him trailed four or five hoodlums, bunched close together and talking among themselves.

"Here's where I quit you, you lubbers," said the young sailor, halting at the steps leading up to the boarding-house door, and turning to the hoodlums. "A messmate of mine berths here, and I'm going to drop in on him and have a bit of a chat over old times. 'Bout ship, the lot of you, and make a good offing. I don't like the cut of your jibs any too well, anyhow. Slant away, slant away."

The sailor backed up against a post at the bottom of the steps.

"Say, yous ole webfoot," said one of the hoodlums,[Pg 2] "loosen up, can't yous, an' fork over the price o' a drink, all around?"

The fellow shambled closer to the sailor and held out one hand with an expectant grin.

"Not a bob will I give you for a tot of drink," answered the sailor, "for I'll be keelhauled if you don't look as though you'd already been topping the boom too much for your own good, but I'll loosen up, as you call it, for a good meal all around."

His hand went into the pocket of his trousers and he drew out a big roll of bills. A greedy gleam darted into the hoodlum's eyes as he glimpsed the bundle of money, and those at his back pushed closer together, nudging each other in the ribs and pointing while the sailor's head was bent.

Suddenly the rascal who had acted as spokesman for the rest made a leap and a grab.

"Avast there, you loafing longshore scuttler!" yelled the young tar. "What sort of a beachcomber's trick do you call that?"

The hoodlum had whirled, the roll in his hands, and was making off as fast as his legs could carry him. The sailor sprang after him, but the rest of the thieving pack jumped in his way and began using their fists, hoping to give their pal the necessary time to get clear with the money.

Carl Pretzel, with an angry shout, withdrew from the open window, dashed from the room, down the stairs and out at the front door. Without paying any attention to the sailor and those with whom he was tussling, the Dutch boy rushed past the struggling group and made a bee line after the thief.

Carl was too fat for a swift sprinter, but the thieving hoodlum was handicapped by a game leg, and Carl was able to overhaul him slowly.

Looking over his shoulder in order to take in the situation behind, the thief saw the Dutch boy, and redoubled his efforts to get away. An alley lay just ahead, and the thief turned into it. Carl plunged after him, but when he got into the alley, the fellow with the money had mysteriously vanished.

"Dot's a funny t'ing!" panted Carl, coming to a halt and peering around. "Vere dit he go mit himseluf?"

Garbage barrels and boxes lined the alley on both sides. Carl started onward again, peering sharply behind each garbage receptacle as he advanced. Suddenly he discovered the man he was looking for, crouching behind a big box.

Carl was a little way beyond the box before he caught sight of the thief.

"Dere you vas!" he yelled, as he faced about. "Now I ged you, und I dake avay vat you got—yah, so helup me!"

He rushed at the thief, and the latter got up, squirmed around the end of the box, and leaped for the side of a shed whose wall stood flush with the alley.

The shed had a square opening, about four feet from the ground, for convenience in unloading wood. The thief had his eye on the opening. If he could get into the shed, he probably reasoned, he could run through into the back yard of the house, gain the street in front, and so, undoubtedly, evade his fat pursuer.

But he didn't make it. By the time he was half through the opening, Carl was close enough to grab his thrashing feet, and he hung onto them like grim death.

"How you like dot, hey?" jubilated the Dutch boy. "You findt oudt, py shimmy, dot it don'd vas so easy to ged avay mit money dot don'd pelong mit you. Oof you shkin oudt, you leaf your feet pehind, und oof you don't come pack indo der alley, den I pull you in two. How vas dot for some fixes?"

"Wot's de matter wit' yous?" came the angry, muffled voice from inside the shed. "Le'go 'r I'll kick a hole in your face!"

"You vill I don'd t'ink," puffed Carl, still hanging to the feet. "Gif oop der money, you dinhorn, oder I turn you ofer py der bolice und you go to der lockoop."

The hoodlum made no move to return the money, but continued to struggle wildly. With a firm hold on each ankle, Carl laid back and pulled for all he was worth; but the thief had caught hold of something inside and all Carl's pulling didn't get him an inch toward the alley.

While the whole matter was at a deadlock, the thief half in half out of the shed, and Carl tugging fruitlessly, the young sailor appeared at the end of the alley. Taking quick note of the situation at the shed, he gave a yell and bore down in that direction.

"Well, strike me lucky, old ship," cried the young tar, "this is my busy day and no mistake. Is that the duffing son of a flounder that got away with my wad?"

"He iss der feller, Verral," panted Carl. "He don'd vant to come out oof der vood shet."

"Hang onto his pins, matey," was the answer, "and I'll fix him."

The sailor pushed his hands through the hole, grabbed the hoodlum by the throat, and exerted a steady pressure.

This manœuvre was successful. Half strangled, the thief's clutching fingers relaxed their hold, and the sailor and Carl, between them, managed to drag him back into the alley.

"Now, you pirate," cried the sailor, dropping down on the captive, "where's that money? That was a raw play you made and you might have pulled it off if it hadn't been for my mate, here. D'you want to go below, in irons? Where's the roll?"

"Look in his bocket vonce," suggested Carl.

"I'll kill you fer dis!" fumed the hoodlum.

"Stow that!" growled the sailor. "I've a knife at the end of my lanyard, but there's nothing about this that calls for cold steel. Drop down on his feet, Carl, and that will hold him steady while I go through his clothes."

While the Dutch boy sat on the hoodlum's feet, the sailor was able to push his hands into the thief's pockets. The roll was found and appropriated, and both boys leaped up.

The hoodlum floundered erect.

"I'll git even fer dis!" he scowled. "Yous can't run in dat kind of a play on Nifty Perkins an' make it stick."

"Bear away!" cried the sailor angrily. "Maybe that'll help you," and he gave the villainous scoundrel a kick that sent him two yards on his way toward the street.

The hoodlum turned to shake his fist, and mutter a threat, then started off at a run. When he reached the street, the rest of his pals joined him. For a time they hung about the alley entrance, apparently trying to make up their minds whether it would be wise to attack the sailor and Carl in force.

"Donnervetter!" cried Carl. "Dot looks like a shance for some scrappings. I don'd vas looking for drouple, aber you bed somet'ing for nodding dot I don'd dodge any. Come along mit yourseluf, Verral! Led's gif dem fellers Hail Golumby."

[Pg 3]

"Cut away!" shouted the young sailor. "The swabs that ran foul of me bolted as soon as you crossed that other chap's hawse. I'd like to square my score with them."

But the hoodlums did not wait. Carl and the sailor looked altogether too war-like. By the time the two boys reached the end of the alley, the street rowdies had taken to their heels.

"A jolly fine lot they are!" cried the sailor contemptuously. "You saved my roll for me, Carl. Haven't had time to shake your hand before, but I can do it now to the king's taste. Your flipper, mate!"

Carl gripped the sailor's hand.

"Vat a surbrise it iss!" he exclaimed. "I don'd haf time to say mooch aboudt dot, eider, aber ven I heardt you singing mit yourself, und looked oudt oof der vinder und saw dot you vas Tick Verral, I ketched my breat' a gouple oof times. Vere you come from, Tick?"

"From Denver, messmate," answered Dick Ferral. "My uncle supplies me with plenty of money, but just the same I'd hate to lose that roll. He made me a present of it when I started for Quebec. But where's my old raggie, Motor Matt? I stopped off here in Chicago just to see him. Got his address from the Lestrange automobile people, and I'm fair hungry to grip his fin, once more. I'll never forget what Matt King did for me—and my uncle won't, either."

"He don'd vas in Chicago schust now, Tick," said Carl. "He vill be pack in two or dree tays, meppy. Anyhow, oof he don'd come pack py do-morrow, meppy ve go oudt vere he iss, und see him? Vat you t'ink oof dot?"

Dick Ferral's disappointment was keen, and he showed it plainly.

"How far is he from here, Carl?" he asked.

"Only a leedle vays. It iss in a blace vat dey call Sout' Chicago."

"What's Matt doing out there?"

"Vell, ve hat some ructions oudt dere—a mighdy high olt time, you bed you. Look at here vonce. Ven you read somet'ing, den you vill know more."

Carl pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and held it under Ferral's eyes, indicating a certain paragraph with his finger.

What Ferral read was this:

"For Sale—The practicable air ship, Hawk, fully equipped with gasoline motor, rudders, propellers, and almost new gas bag. Apply to Chief of Police, South Chicago, Illinois."

CHAPTER II.

A TRAP.

"Well, sink me!" muttered Dick Ferral, staring at the newspaper paragraph. "Have they really got so they can navigate the air like they do the water? I've heard of such things, but I didn't know they'd made a success of them."

Carl threw back his shoulders and puffed out his chest.

"Vell, Modor Matt und me ve haf sailed der sky mit der air ship," said he. "Matt sailed in der Hawk, und I sailed in der Eagle. Ditn't you hear about dot? Vy, it vas in der bapers."

"I haven't looked at a paper for a week," returned Ferral curiously. "How did you and Matt happen to go up in an air ship?"

"It vas like dis, Tick. Matt und me vas oudt peyond Sout' Chicago taking some spins in a pubble, ven along comes a runavay air ship, und——"

"A runaway air ship?" interrupted Ferral incredulously. "Tell that to the marines, Carl!"

"Dot's righdt," insisted Carl. "Der air ship vas running avay mit two fellers vat don'd know how to use him, see? Matt und me shtopped it mit a rope vat vas tragging on der groundt, und der rope proke avay und der air ship vent on, aber vone oof der fellers in der car tropped somet'ing oudt oof his bocket, vich Matt und I picked oop. Vell, dot roll oof bapers pelonged mit anoder feller vat hat hat dem shtolen, und ve hat a mighdy oxciding time gedding dem pack. Matt vas carried off in der air ship to a svamp in Intiana, und I followed him dere in der Eagle, und Matt turned der tables on der fellers vat run avay mit him, und come pack mit two oof der roppers."[A]

[A] See No. 9 of the Motor Stories, entitled, "Motor Matt's Air-Ship; or, The Rival Inventors."

"Well, keelhaul me!" exclaimed Ferral. "I'd give my eyeteeth to be able to take a sail in an air ship. How much do they want for this one?"

His hand wandered to his pocket, where he had replaced the roll of money.

"Dey vant so mooch as dey can ged," said Carl.

"Why is the Chief of Police of South Chicago selling it?"

"Prady, der feller vat owned it, vas a t'ief. Some oof vat he shtole vas prought pack by Matt, und der air ship iss going to be soldt to pay a leedle to some oof der odders vat don'd ged der goots pack."

"What's Matt doing?"

"He shows der air ship off to fellers vat come to see how it vorks. He is heluping der bolice, und dey gif him den tollars a day for flying aroundt mit it."

"Strike me lucky!" exclaimed the impulsive Ferral, slapping Carl on the shoulder, "do you think two thousand plunks would buy the craft, Carl?"

"Nix, Verrai, I don'd. Oof two t'ousandt vouldt puy her, den Matt vould haf owned her pefore now. He vants der Hawk vorse as anypody you efer see."

"Couldn't we rake up enough between us to buy her?" cried Ferral. "If Matt knows about her, and if she'll sail successfully, I wouldn't like anything better than to go from Chicago to Quebec by the air-ship route. What a high old jinks that would be!"

"Pully!" exclaimed Carl, as highly elated over the prospect as was Ferral. "King und Verral, oof der Air-ship Limidet Line! Ach, vat a habbiness oof it couldt come oudt like dot."

"King, Ferral & Pretzel," said Ferral. "You'll be in on the deal, Carl."

"Fife tollars' vort," returned Carl. "Dot's all der money vat I got."

"We'll let you in on the deal just to have you along. Matt will be captain, I'll be mate, and you'll be the crew."

"Py shinks," chuckled Carl, "I vould make a fine crew."

"Does the Hawk handle easily?"

"So easy as I can't dell! You pull a t'ing und she goes oop, den you pull anoder t'ing und she comes down, und you viggle her aroundt mit some more t'ing—I don'd[Pg 4] know vat. Aber Matt can vork her so shlick as nodding. Say, Verral, Matt can make dot air ship turn some handt-shprings in der cloudts, und——"

"Avast there, Carl! I'll bet Matt can handle the craft, all right, even if he can't make her do any hand-springs. Do you suppose she'll be sold before we get out to South Chicago?"

"Vell, I hope nod. Meppy ve go righdt avay, hey?"

"Sure! The quicker we go, the more chance we will have to get the Hawk. If we——" The boys had been walking slowly back to the boarding house, and Ferral suddenly broke off his words and came to a halt. "Oh, hang it," he went on, "I'm due for a sail on the lake at one o'clock. Merrick, a nice chap I met on the train coming from Denver, invited me to go with him, and I said I'd meet him across the Lake Street viaduct right after dinner. I hate to cut away from Merrick like that."

"Vy nod ged him to sail us as near Sout' Chicago as he can go?" suggested Carl. "Den meppy ve ged off der poat und dake der shdreed car?"

"Right-o!" cried Ferral. "That's what we'll do. How long before you can be ready, Carl?"

"Schust so kevick as I can go up py my room und ged dot fife tollars oudt oof der pureau trawer."

"That's the ticket! But you don't need any money, old ship, while you're with me. I've got plenty for the two of us."

"Anyvay, Tick, I got to vash oop a leedle, und prush my clothes——"

"So've I. Those swabs handled me a bit rough, although they didn't leave many marks on me."

Ferral was completely carried away with the idea of buying the air ship, and he could talk of nothing else while he and Carl were smoothing the kinks out of their personal appearance, and riding downtown on the car.

It was nearly one o'clock and they did not have any time to stop at a restaurant for dinner. But neither of the lads thought of anything to eat—and that was what Carl had a habit of thinking of at the right time, and between times, so it will be understood how the prospect of securing the air ship dazzled him.

A little sailing craft was bumping against the wharf at the lake end of the viaduct. Although a small boat, yet she had a cuddy forward, a cockpit aft, and was as spick and span as snow-white canvas, clean decks, and polished brasswork could make her.

A young fellow, rather loudly dressed, was leaning against one of the posts to which the sailboat was moored. He was smoking a cigarette, and, at sight of Ferral, ran up to him with outstretched hand.

"Ahoy, my gay sailorman!" he cried. "I had a kind of hunch that you'd go back on me, and wouldn't show up."

"Whenever I say I'll do a thing," replied Ferral, catching the other's hand heartily, "I lay my course in that direction. But I'm in a rush to get to South Chicago. Do you suppose you can take us somewhere near there?"

"Take you anywhere, old chap," returned the other.

Ferral presented Carl. The Dutch lad was not very much taken with Ferral's friend. There was something about him that rubbed Carl's fur the wrong way. However, Carl did not pay much attention to this vague distrust. He was thinking of the Hawk, and hoping that he and Ferral would reach South Chicago in time to buy the air ship before she was sold to anybody else.

Carl, more than anyone else, knew how Motor Matt was longing to own the Hawk, and how badly disappointed he was to think he had not the money to buy her. Dick Ferral had dropped into the affair at just the right time.

The name of the sailboat was the Christina, and her skipper was a heavy-jawed Norwegian by the name of Erickson. There was something about Captain Erickson that Carl did not like, and the Swede who helped the skipper sail the Christina did not appear to any better advantage. Yet the idea of buying the air ship had put Carl's nerves in a twitter, and he gave little heed to his vague suspicions.

Merrick, Ferral and Carl got aboard the Christina, the Swede cast off the bow moorings, the skipper hauled up the mainsail and jib, and then the Swede threw on the stern rope and jumped aboard. There was a fine breeze, and the little boat tripped out through the harbor in the direction of the government pier.

Ferral and Carl went forward and seated themselves on the top of the cabin. Merrick lingered in the cockpit to talk with Erickson, who had the wheel. The Swede was farther forward, setting another of the jibs.

"How long you knowed dot Merrick feller, Tick?" queried Carl.

"About a day and a half. Why?"

"His looks don'd make some hits mit me; und I don'd like der Norvegian or der Svede, neider."

Ferral laughed.

"Why, Carl," said he, "you can't smoke a fellow's roll on such a short acquaintance."

"I ged some hunches ven I see vat I don'd like, und I got all kindts oof hunches, righdt now, dot somet'ing is crooked. Meppy dot Merrick feller shmokes your roll—der vone vat you got in your bocket."