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MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE
MOTOR FICTION
NO. 23 JULY 31, 1909
FIVE CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S PRIZE
OR THE PLUCK THAT WINS
_BY THE AUTHOR OF "MOTOR MATT"_
_Unaware of his narrow escape the king of the motor boys flung the Sprite onward to victory._]
STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according toAct of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian ofCongress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-80 Seventh Avenue,New York, N. Y._
No. 23. NEW YORK, July 31, 1909. =Price Five Cents.=
MOTOR MATT'S PRIZE
OR,
The Pluck that Wins.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. A CLASH IN BLACK AND YELLOW. CHAPTER II. PICKEREL PETE'S REVENGE. CHAPTER III. A "DARK HORSE." CHAPTER IV. PLANS. CHAPTER V. AN ORDER TO QUIT. CHAPTER VI. FACING THE MUSIC. CHAPTER VII. GATHERING CLOUDS. CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOTTERS. CHAPTER IX. FIREBUGS AT WORK. CHAPTER X. SAVING THE "SPRITE." CHAPTER XI. OUT OF A BLAZING FURNACE. CHAPTER XII. WHAT ABOUT THE RACE? CHAPTER XIII. MART RAWLINS WEAKENS. CHAPTER XIV. THE RACE--THE START. CHAPTER XV. THE FINISH. CHAPTER XVI. CONCLUSION. TRICKED BY TWO. HOMES ON THE RIO GRANDE. PIGEONS AS PHOTOGRAPHERS.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, otherwise Motor Matt.
=Joe McGlory=, a young cowboy who proves himself a lad of worth and character, and whose eccentricities are all on the humorous side. A good chum to tie to--a point Motor Matt is quick to perceive.
=Ping Pong=, a Chinese boy who insists on working for Motor Matt, and who contrives to make himself valuable, perhaps invaluable.
=George Lorry=, who, befriended by Motor Matt at a critical time in his career, proves a credit to himself and to his friends.
=Mr. Lorry=, George's father; a man who knows how to be generous.
=Ethel Lorry=, George Lorry's sister; an admirer of Motor Matt.
=Pickerel Pete=, whose elemental mind evolves a grievance against Motor Matt and is further worked upon by an unscrupulous enemy of Lorry and Matt. The result is almost a tragedy.
=Ollie Merton=, a rich man's son with many failings, but rather deeper than he appears.
CHAPTER I.
A CLASH IN BLACK AND YELLOW.
"Woosh!"
"Fo' de lan' sakes!"
Then followed a bump, a clatter of displaced stones, and sounds ofa fall. When quiet once more ensued, two surprised youngsters wereon hands and knees, peering at each other like a couple of hostilebantams. Between them lay a string of perch, and off to one side ahickory fishpole, and an old tomato can with a choice assortment ofangleworms squirming out of it.
One of the lads was a fifteen-year-old Chinese, in fluttering blouse,wide trousers, wooden sandals and straw hat; the other was a diminutivemoke, black as the ace of spades, barefooted, and wearing a "hickory"shirt and ragged trousers.
The bank of Fourth Lake, where they had come together so unexpectedly,was an admirable place for such collisions. In this place the bank wassome thirty feet high, steep and rocky. A narrow path, thickly borderedwith bushes, angled from top to bottom. At the foot of the path was aboathouse.
Now, if a Chinese boy, in a good deal of a hurry, went slippingand sliding downward from the top of the path, it will be readilyunderstood that he could not put on the brakes in time to avoid anobstruction appearing suddenly in front of him as he scrambled around abushy angle.
And if that obstruction happened to be a diminutive darky, sittingsquarely in the path, sunning himself and half asleep, too drowsy totake notice of sounds above and behind him, it will also be understoodthat a collision was certain.
It happened. The Chinese took a header over the darky, and when eachflopped to his hands and knees, they were looking into each other'seyes with growing animosity.
"By golly!" flared the negro, "is dem glass eyes en yo' haid? Ef deyain't, why doan' yu use dem?"
"Why blackee boy makee sit in China boy's load?" gurgled the other.
"Yo' own dishyer lake?" taunted the little moke; "yo' gotter mo'galidgeon dishyer bank? Go on wif yo' highfalutin' talk! Ah'll sot wherebberAh wants, en ef yo' comes erlong en goes tuh shovin', by golly, yo'llfin' Ah kin do some shovin' mahse'f."
"My gottee light comee down bank," asserted the Chinese boy, pickinghimself up. "My makee go allee same boathouse; you makee stay in load,you gettee shove. My plenty same choo-choo tlain, you makee sleep ontlack. Savvy? You makee some mo' shove, my makee some mo' shove, too."
The Chinese boy stood his ground. The black-skinned youngster sat upand pulled his string of fish closer.
"Ah nebber did lak Chinks," he grunted.
"My no likee blackee boy, all same," averred the Celestial.
"Ah reckons Ah kin lick yu' wif one han' tied behin' mah back. Go'long, yaller trash! Ah's er hurriclone en a cynader, all rolled intuhone, when Ah gits sta'ted. Look out fo' a big blow en a Chink wreck,dat's all."
"Woosh! Blackee boy makee plenty blow. Me allee same cannon. My makeego bang, you makee go top-side. No likee your piecee pidgin."
Then a comical thing happened, and if any third person with a humorousvein in his make-up had been around, the proceeding would have beenhighly enjoyed.
Both youngsters glared at each other. Each had his fists doubled,and each fiddled back and forth across the steep path. The black boysniffed contemptuously. The Chinese lad was a good imitator, and healso sniffed--even more contemptuously.
"By golly," fumed the little moke, "Ah dunno whut's er holdin' me back.Ef any one else had done tuh me whut yo' done, Ah'd hab tromped allober him befo' now. Ah's gwine tuh dat boathouse mah'se'f. Git outen deway an' le'me pass, er Ah'll butt yo' wif mah haid!"
"My makee go to boathouse, too."
A little curiosity suddenly crept into the black boy's hostile brain.
"Whut bizness yo' got at dat boathouse, huh?" he demanded.
"Gottee plenty pidgin. My workee fo' Motol Matt."
"Yo' workin' fo' Motor Matt?" grunted the other. "By golly, he's mahboss."
"Him China boy's boss."
"Naw, he ain't. Yo's talkin' froo yo' hat. Doan' yo' go er prowlin'erroun' dat 'ar boathouse. Ah ain't a-lettin' nobody git dat job awayf'om me."
"Motol Matt my boss, allee same," insisted the Chinese boy.
"When you all git hiahed by Motor Matt?" demanded the darky.
"Long time, allee same Flisco."
"Den dat let's yo' out, yaller mug. Motor Matt done hiahed me fo' daysergo, at two dollahs er day. Skun out. Doan' yo' try cuttin' me loosefrom dat 'ar job."
The darky took a step downward, but the Celestial planted himselffirmly and put up his fists. Once more there was a hitch inproceedings, but the affair was growing more ominous.
"Ah shuah hates tuh mangle yo' up," breathed the darky, "but de'sponsibility fo' what's done gwine tuh happen b'longs on yo' had ennot on mine."
The Chinese lifted his yellow hands and crossed two fingers in front ofhis face, then, in a particularly irritating manner, he snorted at theblack boy through his fingers.
That was about as much as flesh and blood could stand. The colored ladwas so full of ta
lk that it just gurgled in his throat.
"Dat's de mos' insulatin' thing what ebber happened tuh me!" he finallymanaged to gasp. "By golly, Ah doan' take dat f'om nobody. Dat snortin'talk Ah won't stan', dat's all."
"Blackee boy makee heap talk," taunted the Chinese; "him 'flaid makeehit with hands."
"'Fraid?" cried the darky. "Say, you, Pickerel Pete ain't afraid ob allde Chinks dat eber walked de erf. Chinks--waugh! Ah eat's 'em."
"Mebby you tly eatee Ping Pong?" invited the Celestial.
Pickerel Pete, watching his antagonist warily, stooped to pick up asmall pebble. Very carefully he laid the pebble on his shoulder.
"Knock dat off," he gritted, his hand closing on the string that heldthe perch. "Yo' all ain't got de nerve. Yo's got gas enough fo' erb'loon dissension, but dat's all dere is to yu. Knock de stone offenmah shoulder! Go on, now, you yaller trash."
Ping leaned over and brushed the pebble away. That settled it. Therewas no retreat for either of the two after that.
Pete gave a whoop and struck at Ping with the string of perch. Thestring broke, and Ping got a perch down the loose collar of his kimono,while another slapped him across the eyes. For an instant the air wasfull of fish, and under cover of the finny cloud the enraged Chineserushed at his enemy and gave him a push.
Pete sat down with a good deal of force, and, as it happened, he satdown on his fishhook. A fishhook was never known to lie any way butpoint up and ready for business, so Pete got up about as quick as hesat down. The next moment he rushed at Ping, trailing the line and thefishpole after him.
This time the two boys clinched, and the noise they made as they rolledabout among the perch and pummeled each other caused a commotion at theboathouse. Motor Matt and George Lorry rushed out of the building andlooked up the path.
"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "There's a fight going on upthere, George."
"It looks that way, that's a fact," answered Lorry. "Let's go up andput a stop to it."
Matt was already bounding up the path. Before he had ascended more thanfifteen feet he was met by two rolling, plunging, tumbling forms comingdown. A tremendous clatter of sliding stones accompanied the descent,and a towed fishpole whacked and slammed in the rear.
Bracing himself, Matt succeeded in laying hold of the two closelygrappled forms, and in bringing them to a stop; then, when herecognized who the fighters were, his astonishment held him speechless.
"Pickerel Pete!" exclaimed George Lorry.
"And Ping Pong," added Matt, as soon as he had recovered a little fromhis amazement. "The sight of Ping pretty near gives me a short circuit."
"My gottee job," whooped the breathless Ping; "Pickelel Pete no gottee!"
"Hit's my job, en Ah ain't er quittin' fo' no yaller feller like you!"
Thwack, thwack!
"Here, now," cried Matt, "this won't do. Stop it, you fellows!"
Pickerel Pete had a firm grip on Ping's pigtail--which is about theworst hold you can get on a Chinaman. Ping had one hand and arm aroundPete's black neck, and the other hand was twisted in the fishline.
Every time Pete would pull the queue a sharp wail would go up fromPing, and every time the fishline was jerked Pete would howl and squirm.
"You boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves," said Matt, masking hisdesire to laugh with all the severity he could muster.
Lorry was leaning against a tree, his head bowed and his whole form ina quiver.
"Leavee go China boy's pigtail!" chirped Ping.
"Stop yo' pullin' on dat 'ar fishline!" howled Pete.
"Let go, both of you!" ordered Matt; then forcibly he pulled the twolads apart. "Here, Lorry," he called, "you hang onto Ping and I'll takecare of Pete."
The youngsters were a disordered pair when separated and held at adistance from each other.
"What's the meaning of this?" demanded Matt.