NORTHWARD BOUND!
It was a jovial crowd that the submarine carried into Smyth Channel,
practically free of the strait and ready to reach out along the coast
up the western edge of two continents.
Speake was serving dinner, and all were in the periscope room with the
exception of Gaines and Clackett, who had to be on duty below. But
Gaines and Clackett were listening at their speaking tubes and hearing
all that was taking place in the chamber overhead.
"These experiences of ours, during the last few days," said Glennie,
"prove that luck wears as many disguises as those Japs."
"Dot vas some deep talk," said Carl; "so deep, py shinks, dot I can't
onderstand id."
"You're getting terribly thick-headed all at once, Carl," said Dick.
"Oh, I don'd know," said Carl easily. "Who vas id got loose mit
himseluf in der beriscope room und got pack der _Grampus_ from der
gonficts? Leedle Carl, I bed you. A feller vat vas t'ick-headed
couldn't do dot. Hey, Matt?"
"You're right, Carl," laughed Matt. "It took a pretty bright fellow to
do that; and your brightness flashed up at just the right time."
"And then flashed out again," said Dick, with a wink at Matt, "and we
haven't seen it since."
"Vell, meppy," observed Carl. "Anyvay, subbose Glennie oxblains vat he
means ven he say dot luck vears so many tisguises as der Chaps. I nefer
see luck but in two vays--von iss goot luck, und der odder iss pad
luck. I can shpot dose fellers so far as I can see dem."
"Do you know good luck when you see it, Carl?" went on Glennie.
"Don'd I say dot? Sure I do."
"Well, was meeting those convicts good luck or bad for Motor Matt and
the rest of the motor boys?"
"Vat a foolish kvestion!" muttered Carl. "It vas pad luck righdt from
der chump off. Ditn't Modor Matt, und you, und Tick come pooty near
going off der poat drying to ged dose fellers? Vas dot goot luck?"
"Well," went on Glennie, "what was it when Captain Sandoval made up
with Motor Matt and went after the Japs' steamer, thereby leaving us
free to proceed north without having anything to fear from the Sons of
the Rising Sun?"
"Dot kvestion iss more foolish as der odder," said Carl disgustedly;
"dot vas goot luck."
"Then if we hadn't had the bad luck we couldn't have had the good luck."
"You vas gedding grazy, Glennie. I von't lisden to sooch a ignorance."
There was a general laugh at this.
"Now, wait a minute, Carl," proceeded Glennie. "I want to change your
views on the subject of luck. If we had not taken the convicts aboard
we should not have delivered them to Captain Sandoval; and----"
"Und oof ve hatn't telivered dem to Santoval," continued Carl, taking
up the theme, "Matt vouldn't have gone on der poat und got indo
drouple."
"And if Matt hadn't got into trouble, we should not have put in at
Punta Arenas; and if we hadn't stopped there, we wouldn't have got Matt
away from Sandoval; and if Sandoval hadn't been trying to test Matt's
story about the convicts, he wouldn't have come after us when we fled
from Punta Arenas; and if he hadn't found us and made his peace with
Matt, he wouldn't now be chasing the Sons of the Rising Sun or----"
"Ach, himmelblitzen!" groaned Carl, clapping his fingers over his ears,
"shdop it! You vill haf me grazier as a pedpug."
"Well, you see, don't you, that helping the convicts, which you
called bad luck, really resulted in bringing us in touch with Captain
Sandoval, who is now our friend and doing his utmost to overhaul the
Japs. He will keep the Sons of the Rising Sun so busy that they won't
have any chance to follow us up the coast."
"You've run the bell with your remarks, Glennie," said Dick. "We can't
always tell whether things are happening to us for the better or for
the worse. But, taking 'em full and by, they usually pan out what's
best for us."
"My little scheme for gaining time on the Japs by sending them around
the Horn didn't work," put in Matt.
"It was a clever scheme, all right," declared Glennie, "and it would
have worked if the motor hadn't balked on us and compelled us to lose a
day."
"We've given the Sons of the Rising Sun something to think about," said
Dick. "Keelhaul me if I don't think they'll just about throw up their
hands and quit after this."
"If Sandoval gets them," returned Glennie, "he'll keep them in Punta
Arenas until we reach Mare Island."
"And if he don't get them," queried Matt, "what then?"
"There's no doubt about his getting them, old ship!" exclaimed Dick.
"The war ship is a faster boat than the steamer."
"But Sandoval hasn't the cunning nor the brains that the leader of
those Japs has!"
"That may be, but it doesn't take much cunning or brains for a
straight-away race. The fastest boat will win, and I'm banking on the
_Salvadore_. You don't mean to say, matey, that you're expecting to
meet the Young Samurai somewhere up the coast?"
"I'm not expecting it, Dick," answered Matt, "but I'm not going to let
anything surprise me. The things you least expect are the things those
Japs are certain to do."
"I hope like anyt'ing dot der resdt oof dis gruise don'd vas going to
be some Suntay-school bicnics," piped Carl grewsomely. "I vould like to
haf a leedle chincher shdill lefdt in der expetition."
"I guess we'll have ginger enough left, Carl," said Glennie, "even if
we don't have anything more to do with the Sons of the Rising Sun."
"Where's our next port of call, matey?" queried Dick, directing the
question at Matt.
"You know what Brigham said we were to do when we mentioned any place
where we were to put in with the _Grampus_?" laughed Matt.
"He said," replied Glennie, "that we ought to go down in the deepest
part of the ocean and then whisper it."
"Vat dit he mean by sooch grazy talk as dot?" inquired Carl.
"He meant," said Matt, "that the Japs were full of guile, and that the
plans we least expected them to overhear would be the very ones they
discovered. We came down the east coast of the continent from Brazil
and the River Plate, and laid in at Gallego Bay. If we hadn't done
that, we shouldn't have discovered that the Japs were following us,
their boat newly painted and two wireless masts on her deck. Those lads
had their wits about them when they did that wireless work; and it was
only an accident that enabled us to catch their messages, and answer
them, putting them on a wrong tack."
"But that isn't telling us, mate, where our next port of call is to
be."
"I was trying to emphasize Mr. Brigham's advice of keeping such matters
to ourselves."
"But it isn't necessary, now that the Sons of the Rising Sun are out of
the running."
"Possibly it isn't. Well, we shall have to have more gasoline about the
time we reach Valparaiso. You can draw your own inferences from that."
"That means," said Dick, "that we put in at Valparaiso. That will do,
fine. I've been there a lot of times, and I'm a Fiji if I wouldn't
like to renew some old acquaintance among the Chilians and the English
colony. Let's lay over a day or two, Matt, when we get there, and not
just paddle ashore, get the gasoline, and put to sea again."
"How long we stay in the place, Dick," returned Matt, "will have
to depend on circumstances. We've got to make good, you know, by
delivering the _Grampus_ safely at Mare Island Navy Yard."
"Well, I guess we've nothing but plain sailing ahead of us," said Dick.
"You won't have to set a pattern of defiance for the rest of us again,
or use our wireless apparatus to send a disguised Jap steamer around
the Horn."
"When we ought to have gone around the Horn ourselves," added Matt.
"I don't agree with you there," said Glennie. "By coming through the
strait you took the most dangerous passage, and it will count more as a
test of the submarine's capabilities than rounding the Horn."
"I agree with you on that point, Glennie," returned Matt, "and I am
glad you take that view of a case that was practically forced upon us
by the Sons of the Rising Sun."
"To their own undoing," finished Glennie.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (20) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt Makes Good;
OR,
Another Victory for the Motor Boys.
Off the Chilian Coast--Hurled into the Sea--Saved by a
Torpedo--Weighing the Evidence--A Surprising Situation--Another
Attack--A Bad Half Hour--Chasing a Torpedo--Northward Bound--A Halt
for Repairs--Dick Makes a Discovery--A Wary Foe--Pluck that Wins--A
Little Work On the Inside--A Star Performance--Conclusion.
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
NEW YORK, July 3, 1909.
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THE SPIDER WATER.
I.
Not officially: I don't pretend to say that. You might travel the West
from fresh water to salt without ever locating the Spider Water, by map
or by name.
But if you should happen anywhere in the West to sit among a gang of
bridge carpenters, or get to confidence with a bridge foreman; or find
the springy side of a road master's heart--then you might hear all you
want about the Spider Water; maybe more.
The Sioux named it; and, whatever their faults, no man with sense ever
attempted to improve on their names for things--whether birds, or
braves, or winds, or waters; they know.
Unfortunately our managers hadn't always sense, and one of them
countenanced a shameful change in the name of Spider Water. Some idiot
dubbed it the Big Sandy; and the Big Sandy it is to this day on map and
in folder. But not in the heart of the Sioux or the lingo of trackmen.
It was the only stream our bridge engineers could never manage. Bridge
after bridge they threw across it--and into it. One auditor at Omaha,
given to asthma and statistics, estimated, between spells, that the
Spider Water had cost us more than all the other watercourses together
from the Missouri to the Sierras.
Then came to the West End a masterful man, a Scotchman, pawky and hard.
Brodie was his name, an Edinburgh man, with no end of degrees and
master of every one. A great engineer, Brodie, but the Spider Water
took a fall even out of him. It swept out a Howe truss bridge for
Brodie almost before he got his bag opened.
Then Brodie tried--not to make friends with the Spider, for nobody
could do that--but to get acquainted with it. For this he went to its
oldest neighbors, the Sioux. Brodie spent weeks and weeks, summers,
up the Spider Water, hunting. And with the Sioux he talked the Spider
Water and drank fire water. That was Brodie's shame, the fire water.
But he was pawky, and he chinned unceasingly the braves and the
medicine men about the uncommonly queer creek that took the bridges so
fast. The river that month in and month out couldn't squeeze up water
enough for a pollywog to bathe in, and then, of a sudden, and for a
few days, would rage like the Missouri, and leave our bewildered rails
hung up either side in the wind.
Brodie talked cloudbursts up country; for the floods came, times,
under clear skies--and the Sioux sulked in silence. He suggested an
unsuspected inlet from some mountain stream which, maybe, times, sent
its stormwater over a low divide into the Spider--and the red men
shrugged their faces.
Finally they told him the Indian legend about the Spider Water; took
him away up where once a party of Pawnees had camped in the dust of the
river bed to surprise the Sioux; and told Brodie how the Spider--more
sudden than buck, fleeter than pony--had come down in the night and
ambushed the Pawnees with a flood. And so well that next morning there
wasn't enough material in sight for a ghost dance.
They took Brodie himself out into the ratty bed, and when he said heap
dry, and said no water, they laughed, Indian-wise, and pointed to the
sand. Scooping little wells with their hands, they showed him the
rising and the filling; water where the instant before was no water;
and a bigger fool than Brodie could see the water was all there, only
underground.
"But when did it rise?" asked Brodie. "When the chinook spoke," said
the Sioux. "And why?" persisted Brodie. "Because the Spider woke,"
answered the Sioux. And Brodie went out of the camp of the Sioux
wondering.
And he planned a new bridge which should stand the chinook and the
Spider and all evil spirits. And full seven year it lasted; and then
the fire water spoke for the wicked Scotchman, and he himself went out
into the night.
And after he died, miserable wreck of a man, the Spider woke and took
his pawky bridge and tied up the main line for two weeks and set us
crazy, for it cost us our grip on the California fast freight business.
But at that time Healey was superintendent of bridges on the West End.
His father was a section foreman. When Healey was a mere kid, he got
into Brodie's office doing errands. But whenever he saw a draughtsman
at work he hung over the table till they kicked him downstairs. Then,
by and by, Healey got himself an old table and part of a cake of India
ink, and with some cursing from Brodie became a draughtsman, and one
day head draughtsman in Brodie's office. Healey was no college man;
Healey was a Brodie man. Single mind on single mind--concentration
absolute. Mathematics, drawing, bridges, brains--that was Healey. All
that Brodie knew, Healey had from him, and Brodie, who hated even
himself, showed still a light in the wreck by moulding Healey to his
work. For one day, said Brodie in his heart, this boy shall be master
of these bridges. When I am dust he will be here what I might have
been--this Irish boy--and they will say he was Brodie's boy. And better
than any of these doughheads they send me out he shall be, if he was
made engineer by a drunkard. And Healey was better, far, far better
than the doughheads, better than the graduates, better than Brodie--and
to Healey came the time to wrestle with the Spider.
Stronger than any man he was, before or since, for the work. All Brodie
knew, all the Indians knew, all that a life's experience, eating,
living, watching, sleeping with the big river, had taught him, that
Healey knew. And when Brodie's bridge went out, Healey was ready with
his new bridge for the Spider Water, which should be better than
Brodie's, just as he was better than Brodie. A bridge like Brodie's,
with the fire water, as it were, left out. And after the temporary
structure was thrown over the stream, Healey's plans for a Howe truss,
two-pier, two-abutment, three-span, pneumatic caisson bridge to span
the Spider Water were submitted to headquarters.
But the cost! The directors jumped the table when they saw the figures.
Our directors talked economy for the road and for themselves studied
piracy. So Healey couldn't get the money for his new bridge, and was
forced to build a cheap one which must, he knew, go some time. But
the dream of his life, this we all knew--the Sioux would have said
the Spider knew--was to build a final bridge over the Spider Water, a
bridge to throttle it for all time.
It was the one subject on which you would get a rise out of Healey any
time, day or night, the two-pier, two-abutment, three-span, pneumatic
caisson Spider bridge. He would talk Spider bridge to a Chinaman. His
bridge foreman, Ed Peeto, a staving big one-eyed French-Canadian, had
but two ideas in life. One was Healey, the other the Spider bridge.
And after many moons our pirate directors were thrown out, and a great
and public-spirited man took control of our system, and when Ed Peeto
heard it he kicked his little water spaniel in a frenzy of delight.
"Now, Sport, old boy," he exclaimed riotously, "we'll get the bridge!"
And after much effort by Healey, seconded by Bucks, superintendent of
the division, and by Callahan, assistant, the new president did consent
to put up the money for the good bridge. The wire flashed the word to
the West End. Everybody at the wickiup, as we called the old division
headquarters, was glad; but Healey rejoiced, Ed Peeto burned red fire,
and his little dog Sport ate rattlesnakes.
There was a good bridge needed at one other point, the Peace River, a
treacherous water, and Healey had told the new management that if they
would give him a pneumatic caisson bridge there, he would guarantee the
worst stretch on the system against tie-up disasters for a generation;
and they had said go ahead; and Ed Peeto went fairly savage with
responsibility and strutted around the wickiup like a Cyclops.
Early in the summer, Healey very quiet, and Peeto very profane, with
all their traps and belongings, moved into construction headquarters
at the Spider, and the first airlock ever sunk west of the Missouri
closed over the heads of tall Healey and big Ed Peeto. Like a swarm
of ants the bridge workers cast the refuse up out of the Spider bed.
The blowpipes never slept, night and day the sand streamed from below,
and Healey's caissons sank like armed cruisers foot by foot toward the
bed-rock. When the masonry was crowding high-water mark, Healey and
Peeto ran back to Medicine Bend to get acquainted with their families.
Peeto was so deaf he couldn't hear himself sing, and Healey was as
ragged and ratty as the old depot; but both were immensely happy.
Next morning, Sunday, they all sat up in Buck's office reading letters
and smoking.
"Hello," growled Bucks, chucking a nine-inch official manila under the
table, "here's a general order--Number Fourteen."
The boys drew their briars like one. Bucks read a lot of stuff that
didn't touch our end, then he reached this paragraph:
"The Mountain and Inter-mountain divisions are hereby consolidated
under the name of the Mountain Division, with J. F. Bucks
superintendent, headquarters at Medicine Bend. C. T. Callahan is
appointed assistant of the consolidated divisions."
"Good boy!" roared Ed Peeto, straining his ears.
"Well, well, well," murmured Healey, opening his eyes, "here's
promotions right and left." Bucks read on:
"H. P. Agnew is appointed superintendent of bridges of the new
division, with headquarters at Omaha, vice P. C. Healey."
Bucks threw down the order. Ed Peeto broke out first: "Did you hear
that?"
Healey nodded.
"You're let out!" stormed Peeto. Healey nodded. The bridge foreman
dashed his pipe at the stove, jumped up, stamped across to the window,
and was like to have sworn the glass out before Healey spoke.
"I'm glad we're up with the Spider job, Bucks," said he. "When they
get the Peace River work in, the division will run itself for a year."
"Healey," said Bucks, "I don't need to tell you what I think of it, do
I? It's a shame. But it's what I've said for a year--nobody will ever
know what Omaha is going to do next." Healey rose to his feet. "Where
you going?"
"Back to the Spider on Number Two."
"Not going back this morning. Why don't you wait for Four to-night?"
"Ed, will you get those staybolts and chuck them into the baggage car
for me when Two pulls in? I'm going over to the house for a minute."
They knew what that meant. He was going over to tell the folks he
wouldn't be home for Sunday as he expected--as the children expected.
Going to tell the wife--the old man--that he was out. Out of the
railroad system he had given his life to help build up and to make
what it was. Out of the position he had climbed to by studying like a
hermit and working like a hobo. Out--without criticism or reason or
allegation. Simply, like a dog, out.
Bucks and Callahan looked down on the departing train soon afterward,
and saw Healey climbing into the smoker. Every minute he had before
the new order beheaded him he spent at the Spider. One thing he meant
to make sure of--that they shouldn't beat him out of the finish of the
Spider bridge as he had planned it. One monument Healey meant to have;
one he has.
After he let go on the West End, Healey wanted to look up something
East. But Bucks told him frankly it would be difficult to get a place
without a regular engineer's degree. It seemed as if there was no place
for Healey but just the mountains, and after a time finding nothing,
and Bucks losing a roadmaster, Healey--Callahan urging--agreed to take
the little job and stay with his old superintendent. It was a big drop,
but Healey took it.
Agnew meantime had stopped all construction work not too far along
to discontinue. The bridge at the Spider was fortunately beyond his
mandate; it was finished to a rivet as Healey had planned it. But
the Peace River bridge was caught in the air, and Healey's great
caissons gave way to piles, and the cost came down from a hundred
to seventy-five thousand dollars. Incidentally it was breathed from
headquarters that the day for extravagant appropriations on the West
End was passed.
That year we had no winter till spring, and no spring till summer; and
it was a spring of snow and a summer of water. The mountains were lost
in snow even after Easter. When the snow let up, and it was no longer
a matter of keeping the track clear, it was a matter of lashing it to
the right-of-way to keep it from swimming clear. Healey caught it worse
than anybody. He knew Bucks looked to him for the track, and he worked
like two men, for that was his way in a pinch. He strained every nerve
making ready for the time the mountain snows should go out.
There was nobody easy on the West End. Healey least of all, for that
spring, ahead of the suns, ahead of the thaws, ahead of the waters,
came a going out that unsettled the oldest calculator in the wickiup.
Brodie's old friends began coming out of the up-country, out of the
Spider Valley. Over the Eagle Pass and through the Peace Cañon came the
Sioux in parties and camps and tribes. And Bucks stayed them and talked
with them. But the Sioux did not talk, they grunted--and traveled.
After Bucks Healey tried, for the braves knew him and would listen.
But when he accused them of fixing for a fight, they denied and turned
their faces to the mountains. They stretched their arms straight out
under their blankets like stringers, and put their palms downward and
muttered to Healey, "Plenty snow."
"I reckon they're lying," growled Bucks listening. Healey made no
comment; only looked at the buried mountains.
Now the Spider wakes regularly twice; at all other times irregularly.
Once in April; that is the foothills water. Once in June; that is the
mountain water.
Now came an April without any rise; nothing rose but the snow, and May
opened bleaker than April; even the trackmen walked with set faces. The
dirtiest half-breed on the line knew now what the mountains held.
Section gangs were doubled, night walkers put on. Bypasses were opened,
bridge crews strengthened, everything buckled for grief. Gullies began
to race, culverts to choke, creeks to tumble, rivers to madden. From
the Muddy to the Summit the water courses swelled and boiled; all but
the Spider; the big river slept. Through May and into June the Spider
slept. But Healey was there at the wickiup, with one eye always running
over all the line and one eye turned always to the Spider, where two
men and two, night and day, watched the lazy surface water trickle
over and through the vagabond bed between Healey's monumental piers.
Never an hour did the operating department lose the track. East and
west of us everywhere railroads clamored in despair. The flood swept
from the Rockies to the Alleghanies. Our trains never missed a trip;
our schedules were unbroken; our people laughed; we got the business,
dead loads of it! Our treasury flowed over; and Healey watched, and the
Spider slept. But when May turned soft and hot into June, with every
ditch bellying and the mountains still buried, it put us all thinking
hard. It was the season for floods.
TO BE CONCLUDED.
BEAVER IN PERIL OF EXTINCTION IN MICHIGAN.
Unless the State lawmaking body intervenes with protective legislation,
there will be a great slaughter of beavers in Upper Michigan less than
a year hence. The law which prohibits killing the little fur-bearing
animals expires with the close of January, 1910.
For more than eight years beavers have been protected, and that they
have thrived is shown by the fact that large colonies are to be found
on many streams in different portions of the peninsula.
Whether the animals are worthy of continued protection is a question
concerning which divergent views are held. From a humanitarian
standpoint most persons doubtless would be sorry to see the closed
season abolished. It is the opinion of lumbermen, however, that beavers
are a nuisance. This is because of the work of the animals in building
dams. The streams obstructed in this manner, the water is often backed
up and extensive areas are flooded, interfering with the log drives and
frequently resulting in considerable property loss.
The dams in most cases are amazingly well constructed. Marvelous
ingenuity is shown by the builders, and so systematically are the
operations carried on that the work accomplished is almost beyond
belief.
Last fall when the water in Dead River fell to such a low stage that
it was hardly possible to keep Marquette's municipal electric plant in
commission, investigation resulted in the discovery that the stream was
dammed at more than a score of places. Large reservoirs had thus been
created. The obstructions were the work of beavers, good-sized colonies
of which were domiciled at every point where the river was found to be
blocked.
So stanchly constructed were the dams that the use of dynamite was
necessary to destroy them. It was found that trees as large as ten
inches in diameter had been utilized, and in almost every instance
the timber had been cut into four-foot lengths. Firmly set into place
and plastered with mud, the logs formed a substantial barrier, and,
augmented with small sticks and brush, they were successful in backing
up the river until at one point the stream was more than a mile in
width.
However, although the beavers occasion material havoc of this sort,
they do not want for friends who would resent such action as would
leave the animals open to wholesale slaughter. It is pointed out that,
while the beavers have multiplied greatly the last few years and are
now very plentiful, as the result of the imposition of the closed
season, it would require only a few months' work to exterminate the
animals entirely.
Choice beaver skins, such as are procurable in upper Michigan, are in
demand from furriers, and it is unquestioned that with the expiration
of the present statutory protection, waters frequented by the little
animals would witness a swift and sanguinary onslaught by scores of
trappers.
RARE CAGE BIRDS.
Lovers of cage birds have hitherto confined their attention chiefly to
the canary, the parrot, and the mocking bird. Now, however, there is a
tendency to acquire rare varieties and dealers are preparing to meet
this novel demand.
The bulbul is among the feathered pets now in demand in this country.
"A few bulbuls have been hitherto brought from India," said a bird
dealer. "These have not included, however, the bulbul of Persia, the
Oriental counterpart of the European nightingale, but gifted with a
richer, sweeter, and more plaintive song."
The hill minas of India sometimes eclipse parrots in their lingual
abilities, yet very few have been imported into the United States.
They now retail at $17 apiece. Japanese robins, sometimes called Pekin
nightingales by English aviculturists, are peculiarly colored--dark
and greenish, with distinctive yellow and orange on breast, bill, and
wings. They are easy to keep, possess a sweet and musical song, and
have a song period lasting ten months.
The skill of Japanese breeders is also shown in several varieties of
cage birds that are coming into notice in this country. A pure white
variety and a buff-and-white variety of one species--the Japanese nun,
also known as bengelee or mannikin--bear testimony to the assiduity of
the Japanese fanciers. Nuns are small birds of different species, such
as the black-headed and tri-colored nuns, the spice bird or chestnut
finch, and others. Most of them have more or less dark brown in the
coloring.
Cage birds from Africa are notable for beauty of plumage rather than
song. The African weaver, in addition to attractive coloring, offers
a striking exhibition of his skill in the art that has given him his
name. At nesting time, if furnished with worsted or other suitable
material, the birds will weave this in and out of the wires of their
cage, making neat and compact examples of their handiwork. Bishops and
Madagascar weavers are brilliant red and black in coloring, cutthroats
have a band of red across the throat from which is derived the name,
and whidah birds (sometimes but incorrectly called widow birds) have
extremely long tails.
Waxbills form a family of African cage birds which are just beginning
to attract fashionable notice. These include the dainty little cordon
bleu, or crimson-eared waxbill, various species of silverbills, and
several other kinds. The violet-eared waxbill, a bird of radiant
prismatic beauty, though for some years past popular in Europe, has
just been brought to this country. Edelsingers, or African gray
singers, are an African species with a pleasing song.
Lady goldfinches from Australia have hitherto been extremely rare
in this country, although they are said to reach the highest point
of beauty and elegance attained by any of the smaller cage birds of
the world. These birds tame readily, are not pugnacious with cage
mates, and exhibit many individualities of disposition. Among their
accomplishments is an interesting and graceful little dance.
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6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On The High Gear.
7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.
8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.
9--Motor Matt's Air-Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.
10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.
11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.
12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Castaway in the Bahamas.
13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.
14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the _Hawk_.
15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the _Grampus_.
16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.
17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.
18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.
19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.
20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.
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MOTOR STORIES
Every boy who reads one of the splendid adventures of Motor Matt, which
are making their appearance in this weekly, is at once surprised and
delighted. Surprised at the generous quantity of reading matter that we
are giving for five cents; delighted with the fascinating interest of
the stories, second only to those published in the Tip Top Weekly.
Matt has positive mechanical genius, and while his adventures are
unusual, they are, however, drawn so true to life that the reader can
clearly see how it is possible for the ordinary boy to experience them.
_HERE ARE THE TITLES NOW READY AND THOSE TO BE PUBLISHED_:
1--Motor Matt; or, The King of the Wheel.
2--Motor Matt's Daring; or, True to His Friends.
3--Motor Matt's Century Run; or, The Governor's Courier.
4--Motor Matt's Race; or, The Last Flight of the "Comet."
5--Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot.
6--Motor Matt's Red Flier; or, On the High Gear.
7--Motor Matt's Clue; or, The Phantom Auto.
8--Motor Matt's Triumph; or, Three Speeds Forward.
9--Motor Matt's Air Ship; or, The Rival Inventors.
10--Motor Matt's Hard Luck; or, The Balloon House Plot.
11--Motor Matt's Daring Rescue; or, The Strange Case of Helen Brady.
12--Motor Matt's Peril; or, Cast Away in the Bahamas.
13--Motor Matt's Queer Find; or, The Secret of the Iron Chest.
14--Motor Matt's Promise; or, The Wreck of the "Hawk."
15--Motor Matt's Submarine; or, The Strange Cruise of the "Grampus."
16--Motor Matt's Quest; or, Three Chums in Strange Waters.
To be Published on June 14th.
17--Motor Matt's Close Call; or, The Snare of Don Carlos.
To be Published on June 21st.
18--Motor Matt in Brazil; or, Under the Amazon.
To be Published on June 28th.
19--Motor Matt's Defiance; or, Around the Horn.
To be Published on July 5th.
20--Motor Matt Makes Good; or, Another Victory for the Motor Boys.
PRICE, FIVE CENTS
At all newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, by the publishers upon receipt
of the price.
STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
Transcriber's Notes:
Added table of contents.
Italics are represented with _underscores_, bold with =equal signs=.
This text edition expands oe ligatures to "oe"; the HTML edition
retains the ligatures.
Retained inconsistent spelling of Gallego vs. Gallegos.
Page 12, corrected typo "atempt" in "Any further attempt to chase."
Page 15, corrected typo "glitering" in "stern face and glittering
eyes." Changed "Hs" to "He" in "He iss arrest."
Page 17, corrected typo "arested" in "Why had Matt been arrested?"
Page 23, changed "secondhand" to "second-hand" for consistency ("our
second-hand machine").
Page 31, corrected "volet-eared" to "violet-eared."
End of Project Gutenberg's Motor Matt's Defiance, by Stanley R. Matthews