THE PLOTTERS.
Merton and his seven companions were a disgruntled lot when they
returned to Madison after forcing an interview with Motor Matt, having
their propositions rejected and then watching him get away after
unmasking the "commodore."
Merton drove the touring car straight for home, turned it over to the
gardener--who was also something of a chauffeur--and then ushered his
friends into his father's study, in the house.
The butler and the _chef_ had been left to look after Merton's
comfort. Merton immediately sent the butler to the ice box for several
bottles of beer, and the lads proceeded to drown their disgust and
disappointment in drink.
The idea that any human emotion can be blotted out with an intoxicating
beverage is a fallacy. The mind can be drugged, for a time, but when
it regains its normal state all its impressions are revived even more
harrowingly than they were before.
As soon as the glasses had been emptied Merton produced several
packages of cigarettes, and the air grew thick with the odor of burning
"doctored" tobacco.
"What're we going to do with Motor Matt?" demanded Jimmie Hess. "Take
it from me, you fellows, something has got to be done with him or the
cup goes back to the Yaharas. He's a chap that does things, all right."
"And game as a hornet," struck in Andy Meigs. "Wish we could find out
what he's doing to the _Sprite_."
"That's what's worryin' me," said Perry Jenkins. "If he can coax twenty
miles an hour out of the _Sprite_ he's got the cup nailed down."
"He don't know anything about the _Dart_," spoke up Rush Partington.
"As long as he thinks he's only got the _Wyandotte_ to beat, I guess we
can hold him."
"Hold nothing!" growled Martin Rawlins. "You don't understand how much
that chap knows. Where did he grab all that about Halloran? He gets to
the bottom of things, he does, and it's a fool notion to try and pull
the wool over his eyes by sending the _Wyandotte_ over to Fourth Lake
every day. If I----"
"Mr. Ollie," announced the butler, looking in at the door, "there's a
little negro boy downstairs and he says he won't leave till he sees
you."
"Kick him off the front steps, Peters," scowled Merton.
Peters would probably have carried out his orders had not the little
negro quietly followed him up the stairs. As the butler turned away,
the darky pushed past him and jumped into the study.
"Pickerel Pete!" went up a chorus of voices.
The colored boy was one of the town "characters," and was known by
sight to everybody.
"Come here, you!" cried the exasperated Peters, pushing into the room
and reaching for Pete's collar.
"Drag him out," ordered Merton. "I haven't got any time to bother with
him."
"You all better bothah wif me," cried Pete, squirming in the butler's
grip. "Ah kin tell yo' about dat Motor Matt, en Ah got some papahs dat
yo'd lak tuh have----"
"Come along, now, and stop your howlin'," grunted the butler, making
for the door.
A clamor arose from those in the room.
"Wait, Peters!"
"Hear what he's got to say about Motor Matt!"
"Maybe he can give us a pointer that will be useful. Let's talk with
him, Ollie."
"Leave him here, Peters," said Merton.
The butler let go his hold on Pickerel Pete and went out of the study,
shaking his head in disapproval of Mr. Ollie's orders.
"Now, then, you little rascal," went on Merton sternly, as soon as the
door had closed behind the butler, "if you're trying to fool us you'll
get a thrashing."
"En ef Ah ain't tryin' tuh fool yu," returned Pete, "is Ah gwine tuh
git two dollahs?"
"You say," asked Merton cautiously, "that you've got a roll of papers?"
"Dat's whut Ah has, boss. Ah stole dem f'om de boathouse ovah by the
p'int where Motor Matt is workin' on de _Sprite_."
"Why did you steal them?"
"Tuh git even wif Motor Matt, dat's why," snorted Pete, glaring. "He
done hiahed me fo' two dollahs er day, en den he turned me down fo' er
no-count yaller Chink. When er man gits tuh be 'leben yeahs old, lak
me, he ain't goin' tuh stand fo' dat sort o' work, no, suh. Ah jess
sneaked up on de boathouse en Ah swiped de papahs."
It was plain to Merton that Pickerel Pete believed he had a grievance
against Motor Matt. This might make him valuable.
"Let's see the papers, Pete," said Merton. "If they're worth anything
to me I'll pay you for them."
"Dar dey is, boss," and Pete triumphantly drew the roll from the breast
of his ragged "hickory" shirt.
Merton grabbed the roll eagerly, slipped off the rubber band and began
examining every sheet. While his friends breathlessly watched, Merton
jammed the papers into his pocket, sprang to his feet and paced back
and forth across the room.
"What is it, Ollie?"
"Found out anything important?"
"Do those papers really belong to Motor Matt?"
"Tell us about it, can't you?"
"Shut up a minute," growled Merton. "I'm framing up a plan."
For a little while longer Merton continued to pace the floor; then, at
last, he halted in front of Pete.
"There's five dollars for you, Pete," said Merton, taking a banknote
from his pocket and handing it to the boy.
"Oh, by golly!" sputtered the overwhelmed Pete, grabbing at the bill
as a drowning man grabs at a straw. "Ah's rich, dat's whut Ah is. Say,
boss, is all dis heah money fo' me? Ah ain't got no change."
"It's all yours, Pete," went on Merton; "what's more, if you'll come
here and see me Sunday afternoon at four o'clock, I'll give you a
chance to earn another five-dollar bill. Will you be here?"
"Will er duck swim, boss?" fluttered Pete, kissing the crumpled
banknote and tucking it carefully away in a trousers pocket. "Sunday
aftehnoon at fo' erclock. Ah'll be heah fo' suah, boss."
"Then get out."
Pickerel Pete effaced himself--one hand in his trousers pocket to make
sure the banknote was still there, and that he was not dreaming.
"Now, then, Ollie," said Martin Rawlins, "tell us what your game is."
"Yes, confound it," grumbled Meigs. "We're all on tenterhooks."
"These papers, fellows," answered Merton, drawing the crumpled sheets
from his pocket, "contain Motor Matt's plans for changing the _Sprite_.
Looking over them hastily, I gather the idea that he's making the
_Sprite_ just fast enough to beat the _Wyandotte_."
A snicker went up from the others.
"We've got him fooled, all right," was the general comment.
"Don't be too sure you've got that Motor Matt fooled," counseled
Rawlins. "Maybe he put that roll where the negro could get it, and
expected he _would_ get it. This king of the motor boys is deep--don't
let that get past your guard for a minute. I've put all the money I
could rake and scrape into the betting pool, and I don't want to lose
it by any snap judgments."
That was the way with the rest of them. They had all clubbed their
funds together and the result was a big purse for betting purposes.
"I guess it means as much to the rest of us as it does to you, Martin,
to have the _Dart_ win," said Merton dryly. "Motor Matt's deep, as
you say, but don't make the mistake of crediting him with too much
knowledge. He's only human, like the rest of us. From the way matters
look now, we've got him and Lorry beaten, hands down. Motor Matt isn't
sharp enough to steer those papers into my hands by way of Pete.
Now, in all this betting of ours, the money is being placed with the
understanding that if there is _no race_ we take the cash; in other
words, if the Yaharas back down and fail to send a boat to the starting
line, we take the money."
"They won't back down," said Jimmie Hess. "Great Scott, Ollie, you
don't think for a second that Lorry will back down, do you?"
"He may have to," was Merton's vague reply. "Anyhow, if you fellows
make any bets outside of the pool, just make 'em in that way--that the
stakes are yours if the Yaharas back down and there's no race."
"What's back of that, Ollie?" said Perry Jenkins. "You've got something
up your sleeve, I know blamed well."
"And it's going to stay up my sleeve, so far as you fellows are
concerned," returned Merton. "If I evolve a plan, I don't believe in
advertising it. This Motor Matt _may_ have steered those papers into
our hands, and he _may_ be deep enough to make the _Sprite_ a better
boat than the _Dart_ while not knowing anything about the _Dart_, but
I don't think so. However, I intend to be on the safe side. It means a
whole lot to me to win--personally, and apart from my desire to see the
Winnequas keep the De Lancey cup. Just how much it means"--and Merton
winced--"you fellows are not going to know, any more than you're going
to know what I've got at the back of my head for Sunday night. Put your
trust in the commodore--that's all you've got to do. Open up some of
that beer, Perry. I'm as dry as gunpowder's great-grandfather."
The glasses were filled again.
"To our success in the race," said Merton, lifting his glass and
sweeping his keen eyes over the faces of his friends; "may the _Dart_
win, by fair means"--he paused--"or otherwise."
Four or five peered at Merton distrustfully over their glasses; but, in
the end, they drank the toast.
The success of the _Dart_ meant dollars and cents to them; and money,
for those eight plotters, stood for more than club honors and the De
Lancey cup.