BY EXPRESS, CHARGES COLLECT.
Motor Matt was surprised enough, as he left the Lorry mansion, and his
indignation equaled his surprise.
Who could possibly have furnished Lorry with the information on which
he had based his remarkable conclusions? Certainly his attitude had
changed most decidedly since he had sent his telegram to 'Frisco
requesting that Matt accompany McGlory in bringing George home to
Madison.
Matt, as he descended the ridge and proceeded toward the capitol and
the main part of the town, could think of only one possible cause for
Mr. Lorry's actions. Big John must be in some way mixed up in it.
The knowledge that Big John was in that part of the country had come
like a thunderbolt to Matt. The last the king of the motor boys had
heard of Big John, he and his two pals, Kinky and Ross, were getting
out of California by way of Sausalito. A bolt from the blue could not
have been more astounding than the discovery of Big John attempting a
robbery there on the Waunakee road.
Why had Big John come to Madison? And how had he known that Matt was
going to pass that particular point on the Waunakee road that morning?
No doubt Big John's eastern trip had been inspired by the ten thousand
dollars of Lorry's. The rascal had been lured to Wisconsin by the hope
of recovering the money. This seemed clear enough--much clearer than
the method by which Big John had learned that Matt was to go over the
Waunakee road that morning, on foot.
Yes, Big John must have been back of that misinformation which Mr.
Lorry had accepted as a true statement of facts. But it was odd how the
scoundrel had been able to influence Mr. Lorry as he had.
Motor Matt felt that he was embarked on a struggle for the right, and
that he must go on with the battle in spite of his enemies. George
Lorry's whole future might hang on the result of that fight.
Had Matt told Mr. Lorry where McGlory and George were waiting, the
millionaire would certainly have proceeded to the place and attempted
to bring George in to Madison. This would have led George to believe
that Matt had broken faith with him, and the lad would have bolted for
parts unknown.
George had been allowed to have his way for so long that, when his
father took another tack and resolved to be severe with him, the lad
had thought himself abused and imposed upon. George was a spoiled
youth, but Matt believed that he had the right material in him and
would prove a credit to his people if given the proper kind of a
chance. Just as surely, too, he would go down to ruin and disgrace if
the wrong move was made at that critical time.
Lorry, senior's, obstinate determination to send George to the military
school would be a step in the wrong direction. By paying out a little
money for a motor launch, Mr. Lorry would have gone far toward healing
the breach between him and his son, and would have paved the way for a
perfect understanding. This affair of the launch looked like a trifling
matter, but no one but Matt and McGlory knew how much it meant to
George.
When Matt reached the main part of the city his study of the situation
had convinced him that he was doing exactly right. What his next step
was to be he hardly knew. He hated to go back and tell George of his
father's uncompromising attitude, and yet he felt the need of a talk
with McGlory in order to lay future plans.
It was about one o'clock, and Matt went into a restaurant and ate his
dinner. From there he went to the post office to see if any mail had
followed him from San Francisco.
No mail had reached him from the West, but there was a postal card,
posted that morning in Madison, which informed Matt that a certain
express company had received, and was holding at his risk, a crated
power boat on which there was a charge, for _transportation alone_, of
$262.50.
When Matt read the postal card he was positive there was some mistake,
and that it had been given to the wrong person. The card was addressed,
plainly enough, to "Matt King, otherwise Motor Matt," but the king of
the motor boys was not expecting a launch, had not ordered one, and was
not intending to turn over $262.50 to the express company on what was
manifestly an error.
He was on the point of handing the card back to the man at the
post-office window, with the information that the card could not be for
him, when he suddenly changed his mind and decided to go to the express
company's office and rectify the mistake at headquarters.
A little inquiry put him on the right road, and within five minutes he
was leaning over a counter at the express office, showing the clerk the
card and telling him the boat must be for some other Matt King.
"There's no other Matt King in Madison," protested the clerk, "and it's
a cinch there's no other Motor Matt. You're the fellow the boat is for."
"But that charge!" exclaimed Matt. "It can't be for transportation
alone. It must be a C. O. D. collection for part of the price of the
boat. I haven't bought any boat, and am not expecting any one to send
me a boat. I'm a stranger here, and only reached Madison to-day."
"Can't help that. If you're Motor Matt the boat's for you. If you
refuse it we'll have to notify the shipper, and if we can't get any
satisfaction from the shipper, the boat will have to be sold for the
charges."
"Great spark-plugs!" muttered Matt. "Where's the boat from?"
"San Francisco."
The king of the motor boys stared blankly at the clerk.
"From San Francisco, eh?" he repeated.
"Yes, and it's all complete--an eighteen-footer, with engine installed."
"Can--can I see it?"
"Come this way."
The clerk opened a gate at the end of the counter and Matt walked
through and into the storeroom. There he saw the boat, securely crated.
Between the bars of the crate he read the name _Sprite_, lettered on
the bow.
By that time the king of the motor boys was too far gone for words.
Leaning against the wall of the room, he bent his head and drummed a
tattoo on his brow with his fingers.
"Who's the shipper?" he finally managed to ask.
"I don't know whether the way bill has it right or not, but the name of
the consignor is down as Ping Pong. It reads like a joke. Eh?"
Matt left the room and retired to the other side of the counter in the
office.
There was no joke about it. "Ping Pong" might look to the express agent
like a fake name, but it was _bona fide_ for all that.
Ping Pong was the name of a Chinese lad whom Matt had befriended in
San Francisco. The Celestial had won the _Sprite_ in a raffle, and
had turned the boat over to Matt on condition that Matt would allow
Ping Pong to work for him. Ping and the _Sprite_ had disappeared
mysteriously before the young motorist left 'Frisco, and that was the
last seen of either the Chinaman or the boat until now. And here the
boat had turned up in that Madison office of the express company with
transportation charges of $262.50 to be collected!
The idea of sending a power boat, engine and all, by express, in a
heavy crate, was a piece of folly of which even a ten-year-old American
boy would not have been guilty. But Ping was a Chinaman, and probably
he thought Matt was a millionaire.
"Goin' to take it or leave it?" inquired the agent as Matt walked back
and forth across the office turning this new development over in his
mind. "The charges ain't any more than what they always are--three
times the merchandise rate."
"I guess the charges are all right," said Matt humorously, "for it's a
long haul. And then, too, the crate, and the engine, and the boat weigh
up to beat the band."
"Going to take it?"
Matt's mind had been rapidly going over the points of the case.
Madison was surrounded by lakes, and motor-boating was a hobby with a
large number of the people. By sending the _Sprite_ to Matt, Ping had
undoubtedly determined that he should have the boat. The _Sprite_ was
speedy--Matt had tried her out in San Francisco Bay and knew that--and
with some changes in the reversing gear Matt believed she could show
her heels to anything from First Lake to Fourth. On such a showing, the
boat could undoubtedly be sold at a good price, and while $262.50 was a
big sum to pay out, just for express charges, still----
Then Matt had another thought, and it was a "startler." George wanted
a motor boat for the race. The _Sprite_ wasn't a five-thousand-dollar
"speeder," but she could run like a streak with the right kind of a
fellow at the engine. Mr. Lorry had refused to help George to a boat,
and this unexpected arrival of the _Sprite_ seemed almost providential.
"I'm going to take the boat," said Matt, pushing a hand into his pocket
and stepping up to the counter.