MIXED MESSAGES.
"I tell you somet'ing," said Carl Pretzel gloomily, "I don'd like
hanging aroundt mitoudt any pitzness. Id geds on my nerfs, yah, so
helup me. For six tays, now, ve haf peen loafing in New Orleans, und
eferyt'ing vas so keviet as some Quaker meedings. Nodding habbens. Vy
don'd ve hear from Downsent mit a hurry-oop call to ged busy, eh?"
It was nine o'clock in the evening of the day preceding that on which
the _Grampus_ had got away in the wake of the _Santa Maria_, and Motor
Matt, Dick and Carl were lounging in the small office of the Snug
Harbor.
For two or three days Carl had been restless. He had visited all the
five-cent shows on Canal Street, he had made a sight-seeing tour
through the French Quarter, he had gone out to Lake Pontchartrain, and
he had done various other things to pass away the time and make some
excuse for his idleness, but his energetic spirit was not to be muzzled.
"Take it easy, old ship," said Dick; "I'm as anxious as you are to
trip anchor and slant away for some port where we can do things, but
there's a notion rattling around in my locker that it won't be long now
before we run afoul of something real exciting. We were to wait a week
on Townsend, and the week will be up to-morrow. We'll hear from him
then, and I'll bank on it."
"So will I," spoke up Matt. "Don't be so impatient, Carl. Adventures
are all right, but there are a few other things in life for fellows
like us to think about."
"T'anks, brofessor," answered Carl, humbly. "Vat else vould you t'ink
aboudt oof you vanted to be among der life vones?"
"An academy, for instance," said Matt with a far-away look in his gray
eyes, "and a spell of grubbing at the stores of knowledge preparatory
to a college course."
"Helup!" gasped Carl; "bolice! Matt is t'inking oof cutting himseluf
oudt oof our herd, Tick, und going to school. Shpeaking for meinseluf,
ven I go to school I don'd go, for I play vat you call hookey undt look
for atvendures. All has got to go mit shnap und chincher for me, und
vere iss lifeliness in pooks? Ach, donnervetter!"
"Avast, there, matey!" said Dick. "Matt is right. Adventures are all
well enough in their place, but a cruise in the waters of learning is a
main fine thing--for those who can afford it. Some day Matt will be in
an academy, and some other day he will be in Harvard or Yale, and the
King of the Motor Boys will be done with the buzz-engines for always."
Matt pulled himself together and laughed softly.
"Never, as long as I live," he declared, "will I be done with gasolene
motors. Don't fool yourself on that for a minute. I may----"
"A message for you, Motor Matt. Just came off the wires."
A messenger boy pushed in among the three chums and handed a yellow
envelope to Matt. All the messenger boys, together with nearly every
one else in New Orleans, knew Motor Matt at least by sight. His
work with the air ship, _Hawk_, which had recently been wrecked and
destroyed, had kept him and his friends prominently in the public eye
for some time.
"Sign the book, Dick," said Matt, tearing open the envelope.
"Vat you t'ink oof dot?" breathed Carl in a spasm of joyful excitement
as the messenger boy went away. "Ve talk oof vanting t'ings to habben,
und righdt off dey pegin. Ach, vat a luck! How easy id iss to be
jeerful--somedimes!"
"Mayhap that message isn't anything to be cheerful about, Carl," said
Dick. "I'll bet some one is asking to buy the _Hawk_, and her poor old
bones are rusting in a live oak, down by Bayou Yamousa."
"Dot ain'd my guess, you bed you," palpitated Carl. "I t'ink id iss
somepody asking vill ve go by der Spanish Main und hunt for birate
shtuff. Vat a habbiness oof id iss!"
"You're both wrong," said Matt, a perplexed look on his face. "There
has been some mistake in the telegraph office, and this message isn't
for me."
"Not for you, mate?" queried Dick, picking the envelope off Matt's
knee. "It's addressed plain enough--'Motor Matt, Care Snug Harbor
Hotel, New Orleans.'"
"There's a different name inside," returned Matt.
"Vat id iss?" asked Carl, curiosity in a measure drawing the sting of
disappointment.
"'Captain James Sixty,'" read off Matt, "'Snug Harbor Hotel, New
Orleans, Louisiana.' The address is the same, but the name is
different."
"Meppy der message iss for you, anyvay," persisted Carl. "Read him ofer
und meppy you can dell."
"No, the message is part of the puzzle. Listen: 'In latitude
twenty-eight degrees thirty minutes and twenty seconds north, longitude
ninety-two degrees fourteen minutes and thirty-four seconds west two
days ago. No wind and no drift since.' How could that possibly be for
us, pards?"
"Id's some conuntrums, und dot's all aboudt id," grumbled Carl
dejectedly. "Nodding habbens mit us more as you findt on a
Suntay-school bicnic, und I'm going to ped mit meinseluf und hope for
pedder t'ings in der morning. Good nighdt, bards."
With that Carl got up disgustedly and left the hotel office.
"How do you account for that, mate?" asked Dick.
"The messages got into the wrong envelopes," answered Matt. "Mr. James
Sixty must be staying in this hotel. He's got my message and I've got
his. That means we've got to find each other and exchange. Come on,
Dick. We'll go over and talk with the clerk."
When they got to the desk they found a hulk of a man with a very red
face talking with the night man in the office. The red-faced man seemed
very much put out about something. He had a voice like a fog horn, and
he was using it with a good deal of power. As Matt and Dick approached
the desk the clerk suddenly put out his hand and stopped the flow of
language.
"There's Motor Matt now," said he. "Here, Matt!" he called. "Have you
got a telegram that don't belong to you? There's been a mix-up in
messages, somehow, for Captain Sixty, here, has got one you ought to
have. He was just asking me where you could be found."
"I was just coming to ask you about Captain Sixty," said Matt, holding
out the message.
Sixty turned and snatched the message away.
"D'you read it?" he roared.
"Couldn't very well help it, captain," answered Matt. "If you'll look
at the envelope you'll see it's addressed to me."
"I like some people's nerve," scowled the captain. "Here's your'n."
He flung a crumpled yellow sheet at Matt.
"It looks as though you'd read this," said Matt, "so I guess we're no
more than even."
An angry gurgle came from Sixty's bull-like throat.
"I'll raise Cain if I find out this mix-up was done a-purpose," he
growled.
"I don't see what anybody could want to do such a thing as that for,"
returned Matt.
The captain flung about and gave Matt an insolent up-and-down stare.
"Oh, you don't, huh?" he muttered. "Well, mebby it's well you don't."
The captain rolled away.
"The way to talk with him," said Dick resentfully, "is with a belaying
pin. He looks like an old shellback, and I'll bet he's a bucko. But
what's the message, mate?"
"A man in Boston wants to buy the _Hawk_," answered Matt, "and asks us
to name our price. He says he knows Archibald Townsend, and refers us
to him as to his financial standing."
"I could have kissed the book on that, Matt," said Dick soberly.
"Keelhaul me if I don't wish we had that blessed little flying machine
this minute."
"So do I. But there's no use crying about it, Dick. Maybe we'll build
another, some time; just now, though, we ought to think more about bed
than anything else."
"I'm ready to do a caulk, if you are."
"Come on, then."
As they were leaving the office to go upstairs to their room Matt took
a look around. Captain Sixty was sitting in a chair in the corner, his
message opened out on his knee. But his fishy little orbs were not on
the message, but on Matt; and there was a glittering distrust in them
which Matt could not fail to notice. However, he said nothing about it
to Dick, and very soon forgot it himself.
Next morning the boys were hoping to hear from Townsend. Townsend,
otherwise Captain Nemo, Jr., of the submarine _Grampus_, had some work
in which he wanted Matt and his friends to assist him, and he had asked
Matt, Dick and Carl to remain a week in New Orleans, at his expense,
until he should be well enough to tell them about the work and get it
under way.
The following day rounded out the period of time Townsend had asked for.
After breakfast the boys hung about the hotel waiting for some
communication from Prythania Street. Toward the middle of the forenoon
a bell boy ran into the office and hurried to the place where Matt was
sitting with Dick and Carl.
"You're wanted in the parlor, Motor Matt," said the boy.
"Dere id vas!" exclaimed Carl delightedly. "Ve got id now, Tick."
"Who wants me?" asked Matt.
"A young woman--and she says she's in a hurry."
Matt was puzzled. He did not know any young ladies in New Orleans, and
couldn't imagine why one should come to the hotel and ask for him.
"I'll go right up," said he--and immediately took the first step into a
snare that had been laid for him.