HURRY-UP ORDERS.
When Matt entered the bare little room on the second floor which served
as a public parlor for the hotel, a girl of sixteen or seventeen arose
to meet him. She had black hair and eyes, was well dressed, and looked
like a Spanish señorita.
"Motor Matt?" she asked, stepping toward him with an engaging smile.
"My name," he answered.
"I am----" She paused, and a frightened look came into her wide, dark
eyes. For the first time Matt noticed that, in spite of her smile, she
seemed to be ill at ease. "I am Miss Harris," she finally went on,
"Miss Sadie Harris, a niece of your friend, Mr. Townsend. Perhaps you
have heard my uncle speak of me?"
The girl's English was good, so Matt argued that she was not a Spaniard
after all.
"No," he answered, "I did not know that Mr. Townsend had a niece."
"That's strange," murmured the girl, "for I was always a favorite of
his. As soon as I learned that he was sick I came right on to New
Orleans. When I arrived here, yesterday, I found my uncle nearly well
again. All this, though, has nothing to do with my errand. Here are
three tickets to British Honduras, good on the steamer _Santa Maria_,
which sails at ten, this morning. There is not much time, Motor Matt,
and it is my uncle's wish that you go on that boat."
To say that Matt was "stumped" would hardly do justice to his feelings.
"British Honduras?" he echoed.
"Yes; the boat sails from the Fruit Company's dock."
"But why am I and my friends to go to British Honduras?"
"I don't know. My uncle gave me the tickets and asked me to hand them
to you and tell you to expect word from him at Belize. He said the
work was very important, and that you must not say a word about it to
anybody."
"I don't know anything about the work, Miss Harris," answered Matt, "so
it won't be possible for me to say anything to any one."
"Your intention of leaving on the _Santa Maria_, too, ought to be kept
a secret. At least, that's what my uncle says."
"This is mighty sudden," murmured Matt dazedly. "Why couldn't Mr.
Townsend have called me out to the house and talked this over with me
yesterday?"
"He didn't know anything about it yesterday, Motor Matt. In fact, the
work only came to his knowledge an hour ago."
"Wasn't he well enough to come and tell me himself?"
"Well enough, yes, but he had not the time. The _Grampus_ is over at
Westwego, and he is very busy getting her ready for sea."
"Isn't he going to British Honduras on the _Santa Maria_?"
"No."
"How am I to hear from him in Belize?"
Miss Harris tossed her head petulantly.
"My uncle isn't telling all his plans, even to me. I've delivered his
orders, and it's getting along toward ten o'clock and you haven't
much time if you're to sail on the _Santa Maria_. I'm to go on the
boat myself, and it isn't likely my uncle would leave me alone and
unprotected in Central America. He thought you and your friends could
look after me a little, both on the boat and until he was able to reach
Honduras, but----"
Miss Harris used her lustrous Spanish eyes with telling effect.
"Certainly we will go," broke in Matt, "only it was such a hurry-up
order that it rather floored me. I and my pards have been waiting to
hear from Mr. Townsend about some work which he was going to do when he
got well enough. Perhaps the work has something to do with you?"
Matt was clever at drawing inferences. There might be Spanish blood in
Miss Harris' veins--British Honduras was partially peopled with men
and women of Spanish descent--and here was a call to Belize. Then,
again, Miss Harris had only recently arrived in New Orleans, and it
required no great stretch of fancy to imagine that she had sprung, thus
suddenly, some line of endeavor for which her uncle had been waiting.
"I am not at liberty to tell you anything more, Motor Matt," said Miss
Harris, with another of her bright smiles. "Will you take the _Santa
Maria_?"
"Yes."
A strange glow danced in the girl's expressive eyes.
"That is nice of you," said she. "Here are the tickets. My uncle was so
sure you'd go that he got them and secured your stateroom reservations."
Matt took the envelope the girl handed to him and walked down the
stairs with her. She bade him good-by at the ladies' entrance, and, as
he turned to go back to the office he had a disturbing thought.
If there had been time to secure tickets and cabin reservations, there
should have been time for Townsend to give Matt and his chums a little
more notice of that trip to Honduras.
Matt, however, had abundant faith in Townsend. Undoubtedly he was
proceeding in the manner that best suited his plans.
"Come on, boys," said the young motorist, hurrying up to Dick and Carl,
"we've got to pack, and be in a rush about it."
"Hoop-a-la!" gloried Carl, catching the spirit of Matt's words,
although he had not the remotest idea of the underlying cause. "Oof ve
are going to pack oop, den id vas a skinch ve're going someveres; und
oof ve vas going someveres, den der drouple-pot iss on, und vill pegin
to poil righdt----"
"Ease up a bit on that jaw-tackle, mate," interrupted Dick, grabbing
Carl's arm and hurrying him off after Matt. "It's as plain as the nose
on your face that some kind of word has been received from Townsend,
but it's just as plain that there's no time to talk about it. Matt's in
a tearing hurry, and it's up to us to pull back into our shells, hustle
the stuff into our dunnage-bags, and wait for him to tell us what we
want to know."
When Dick and Carl reached their room, Matt was already throwing his
belongings into a grip. The sailor and the Dutch boy got busy.
"The girl is a Miss Sadie Harris," explained Matt as he worked, "and
she's a niece of Townsend's."
"Vas she a pooty goot looker?" inquired Carl, rolling up his eyes.
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded Dick.
"Nodding, only id vas more romandick oof a pooty girl vas mixed oop in
der pitzness."
"My eye!" exploded Dick. "Well, cut out the romance. Unless I'm wide of
the course this is nothing but pure business. Eh, Matt?"
"Yes," answered Matt. "We're to sail at ten o'clock for Belize, in
British Honduras."
Carl slumped into a chair with a gasp.
"Pridish Honturas!" he gurgled. "Vere iss dot? Ofer py China someveres?"
"It's in Central America, you saphead!" cried Dick. "I've been in those
waters, and I'm a Feejee if they ever took much of my fancy."
"Miss Harris brought our tickets," proceeded Matt, "and she's going to
sail on the same boat."
"Vat are ve to do ven ve ged dere?"
"Wait for instructions from Townsend."
"Then Townsend isn't sailing with us, mate?"
"No."
"Well, keelhaul me, it's a queer course that's been laid for us. What
makes it queerer is, that in all the time we've been hooked up with
Townsend he's never once mentioned his niece."
"Townsend is an odd chap, in some ways, but he's as straight as a
string for all that," returned the young motorist. "This work in
Honduras, I feel pretty sure, has something to do with the girl."
"I like dot," spoke up Carl, kneeling on his rusty old suit-case in
order to make the cover go down. "Peauty in tisdress alvays cuts some
ice mit me. Dere! I vas alretty for anyding vat comes my vay."
"I'm ready, too," added Dick.
"And I," said Matt, picking up his satchel.
They left the room hurriedly. At the bottom of the stairs Matt handed
his grip to one of the porters.
"Carry that over to the Fruit Company's dock," said he. "Dick, you and
Carl go on. I'll square up with the proprietor and trail along after
you."
"Mind dot you don't get left," cautioned Carl.
"I've ten minutes," was the answer, "and I can get to the dock in half
that time."
Dick, Carl and the porter hastened off, and Matt turned back into the
office. He was only two or three minutes settling the bill, and as he
started for the hotel door he passed a telephone booth and an idea came
to him.
There could be no harm in calling up Mrs. Thomas' boarding-house in
Prytania Street, telling Townsend they were off and saying good-by. A
word of that kind with Townsend would prove reassuring.
The idea was no sooner conceived than it was carried out. But Matt was
destined to disappointment. He was informed by "central" that the wire
was busy, and, as it was already five minutes of ten, he had no time to
wait.
Throwing the receiver back on the hooks, he left the hotel and ran
toward the Fruit Company's dock. The warning bell of the _Santa Maria_
was ringing, and deck hands were preparing to haul in the gang plank as
he rushed across it.
"Py chiminy, aber dot vas some glose connections!" cried Carl, who,
with Dick, was waiting and watching for Matt.
"A miss is as good as a mile," Matt replied. "Have you seen Miss
Harris?"
"She's forward, matey," said Dick.
"We'll stow the luggage somewhere," went on Matt, "and then go forward
ourselves and see the boat get away."
The baggage was piled in the cabin, and when the three boys reappeared
and made their way toward the forward part of the main deck the _Santa
Maria_ was shivering from stem to stern under the impetus of her
powerful engines and drawing away from the dock and into the channel.
There were a dozen or more people on the dock waving hats and
handkerchiefs, while a dozen or more were clustered at the steamer's
rail returning the parting salutes.
"Dere iss nopody dere to vave goot-py ad us," remarked Carl, "not efen
Downsent!"
"We certainly couldn't expect Townsend, Carl," said Matt. "He has other
matters to occupy his mind, I suppose."
"I shouldn't think he'd be too busy to come down and see his niece off
on her voyage," put in Dick. "Still, as you say, mate, he may be----"
Dick suddenly broke off his words. His eyes had been roving over the
passengers along the rail.
"Sink me!" he exclaimed, dropping a quick hand on Matt's arm. "Look
over there--to the left."
Matt looked, and immediately experienced the same surprise that had
laid hold of his chum.
The burly form of Captain Sixty was in plain view, and at the captain's
elbow, and talking with him, was Miss Harris!