MATT MAKES AN INVESTMENT.
Murgatroyd, his face distorted with anger and his little eyes snapping
viciously, was clutching a slender, middle-aged woman by the arm. He
had leaped at her, in a burst of rage, overturning the chair, which
happened to stand in his way.
Matt's unceremonious entrance into the room startled Murgatroyd.
Releasing his grasp of Mrs. Traquair's arm, he fell back a step,
staring at Matt as though at a ghost.
Mrs. Traquair was so desperate and frightened that she was not nearly
so startled by the lad's spring through the window as was Murgatroyd.
From Matt's manner she was not long in realizing that fate had sent her
a champion at just the moment when she needed one most. Instinctively,
she drew toward the youth, half fearful and half appealing.
"Ah, King!" exclaimed Murgatroyd, struggling to get the whip hand of
himself. "Rather a peculiar way you have of coming into a house," he
added, with some sarcasm.
"It looked as though I was needed," returned Matt grimly.
"You'd better look again. You're not needed. This is a little money
transaction between Mrs. Traquair and myself. Isn't that so, Mrs.
Traquair?" he queried, turning to the woman.
"Y-e-s," answered Mrs. Traquair, her voice so low it was almost a
whisper.
"Don't butt in here, King," scowled Murgatroyd. "You hear what the lady
says. This is none of your business."
"That's where I differ from you," said Matt sturdily. "If I'm not
mistaken, you were using me as a club to drive Mrs. Traquair into
signing that paper," and he nodded toward a document that was lying on
the table near pen and ink.
"Don't make any misstatements, sir," blustered the broker.
"And don't you," cautioned Matt. "I overheard you tell Mrs. Traquair
that you would have to pay a thousand or two in order to get me to risk
my life flying that aëroplane. As a matter of fact, Mr. Murgatroyd, you
did not offer to pay me a cent. I was to exhibit the machine, then, if
the government bought it for fifteen thousand dollars, I was to have
half."
The red ran into Murgatroyd's face.
"How do you know that I was referring to you?" he demanded.
"I know it, and that's enough." Matt picked the paper from the table.
"I'll just look over this and see----"
"Give that to me!" cried Murgatroyd, stepping toward Matt and making a
grab at the document.
Matt jumped back quickly and thrust the paper behind him.
"Mrs. Traquair," said he to the woman, "I want to be a friend of yours.
May I read this?"
"So--so far as I am concerned," the woman whispered, with a frightened
look at the broker.
"By thunder," exploded Murgatroyd, "I'll not stand for this! Give that
up, King, or I'll have the law on you."
"The law won't touch me," said Matt. "This paper was prepared by you
for Mrs. Traquair to sign; as a friend of Mrs. Traquair's I have the
right to look the trap over before you spring it."
"Well, of all the impudence---- Say, I wouldn't let you fly that
aëroplane for me if it never got a try-out at Fort Totten. I'll be even
with you for this, my lad! I'll--I'll----"
Murgatroyd choked up with wrath and could not finish. Meanwhile, Matt
had glanced at the paper. One glance was sufficient.
"This, Mrs. Traquair," said he, "is a document conveying all your
right, title, and interest in your late husband's aëronautical
inventions, and in the aëroplane now in the post trader's store at Fort
Totten, to Amos Murgatroyd. And the consideration is three hundred
dollars. You will not sign it, of course?"
"But what am I to do?" faltered the woman hopelessly.
"Whatever you do, Mrs. Traquair, you must not sign away your interest
in what may perhaps prove valuable property, for such a small sum."
Then Matt, with steady hands, ripped the document into ribbons.
If Murgatroyd had been angry before, he was fairly beside himself now.
"You--you young scoundrel," he cried, shaking his fist, "I'll teach you
to meddle in my business affairs. This isn't the last of this, not by a
long chalk. I'll have this woman and her brats out in the street before
night. I'll----"
"You'll keep a respectful tongue between your teeth, that's what you'll
do," and Motor Matt stepped resolutely toward the broker.
There was something in the lad's bearing that caused Murgatroyd to grab
his hat and retreat precipitately to the door.
"You'll hear from me, the pair of you," he snarled, "before you're many
hours older."
Then the door slammed. Through the open window, edged with its torn
streamers of mosquito net, Matt could see the broker hustling through
the gate. A choking sob struck on the lad's ears, and he whirled to
find Mrs. Traquair in a chair, her face in her hands.
There were ample evidences of poverty in the bare little front room,
and the appearance of the woman herself testified eloquently of a
fierce effort to keep the wolf from the door by grinding toil. Matt's
heart was full of sympathy for her in her trouble.
"Don't take it so hard, Mrs. Traquair," said Matt, stepping to her
side. "There may be a way out of this."
She lifted her head.
"No, there is no way out," she answered, in a stifled voice, "you don't
know Mr. Murgatroyd! You don't know what it means to owe him money and
not be able to pay him even the interest."
"How much do you owe him?"
"Just a thousand dollars."
"But he said the interest due, if I recall his words, was one hundred
and fifty dollars."
"That's right--fifteen per cent."
"Fifteen per cent? Great spark-plugs! Why, that's usury."
"Not out here. Harry borrowed the money on our homestead, up in Wells
County. He needed it to build his aëroplane, and he needed a lot more
that he raised by selling his live stock and farming tools and some of
the furniture. He thought he'd get everything back when he showed what
the aëroplane could do, and sold it to the government. But--but the
very machine that was to make our fortune has taken his life, and--and
what am I to do?"
Mrs. Traquair's face went down into her reddened, toil-worn hands again.
"There may be a way out of this, Mrs. Traquair," said Matt. "It's
clear, I think, that Murgatroyd is a thief and a scoundrel. If he
didn't believe there was merit in your husband's invention he wouldn't
be trying to get hold of it. Have you any drawings, or papers from the
patent office, that I can look at to get an idea of what the aëroplane
is like?"
"There is a model----"
"Good! A model will do better than anything else."
Mrs. Traquair went into another room and brought out an old "telescope"
grip. Unbuckling the straps with fingers that still trembled,
she lifted out of the grip and held up for Matt's inspection the
beautifully constructed model of an aëroplane.
Matt sat down in a chair and took the model on his knees. For all
of ten minutes he studied the small machine, his eyes glowing with
amazement and delight.
"I haven't had much experience with aëroplanes," said Matt finally,
lifting his eyes to Mrs. Traquair's, "but I've put in a good deal of
time studying them. I came to Jamestown in the hope that I could make
a deal with Murgatroyd and get a little practical work with a real
flying machine. When I first met Murgatroyd I didn't understand the
circumstance so well as I do now; and after overhearing what I did
while standing outside that window, and after inspecting this model,
I am more anxious than ever to make an acquaintance with the larger
machine at Fort Totten. You haven't signed any papers giving Murgatroyd
a hold on that machine, have you, Mrs. Traquair?"
"I haven't put my name to anything," declared the woman. "Harry had
arranged for the government test, and had sent the machine to Fort
Totten before the--the accident. After that, Mr. Murgatroyd came here
and said he would have to take the aëroplane, and get some one to fly
it, unless I could pay him the interest money. What could I do?" The
poor woman made a pathetic gesture with her hands. "There were the
funeral expenses to pay, and I could not even think of paying the
interest. Mr. Murgatroyd said that he would try and find some one who
was fool enough to risk his neck in the aëroplane, and that if he could
find such a person he would talk with me again. That was the reason he
came here this morning."
Matt placed the model on the table, and walked thoughtfully up and down
the room.
"There are two or three ideas embodied in this aëroplane, Mrs.
Traquair," said he, halting in front of the woman, "that seem to me to
be of immense value. Do you know whether Mr. Traquair protected the
ideas with patents?"
"Harry said that all his inventions were securely protected. I can find
the papers if you----"
"Your word is enough, for the present. A friend of mine came to
Jamestown with me, and we have a little money which we would like to
invest. Now, I will make this proposition: If you will give me an order
on the post trader at Fort Totten for the aëroplane, I will go to the
fort at once and familiarize myself with the machine; then, when the
time for the government test arrives, I'll put the aëroplane through
its paces. If the try-out is a success, then I and my friend are to
have half of the fifteen thousand dollars to be paid for the machine.
I will stand my own expenses, and, in addition, will give you five
hundred dollars. You can take some of this money and pay Murgatroyd
his interest; then, if the trial at Totten is a success, you will
have plenty to take up the mortgage. Understand, I am not buying an
interest in the invention--that, I firmly believe, is worth more than
I could pay--but I am buying a half interest in what the government is
to hand over, providing the government officials are pleased with the
performance of the aëroplane."
Mrs. Traquair was so overwhelmed she could hardly speak.
"I don't want to rob you," she protested; "I don't want to rob anybody,
or----"
Matt interrupted her with a laugh.
"I'm willing to take a chance, Mrs. Traquair," said he. "If you will
come to the Gladstone House at three o'clock this afternoon, we'll have
a lawyer draw up the papers, and I'll give you your money. Can I take
that model with me to the hotel? I'm a stranger to you, so I'll leave
twenty dollars in place of the model."
"Who'll I ask for when I come to the hotel?" inquired Mrs. Traquair.
This unexpected stroke of fortune seemed to have dazed her. She had
heard Murgatroyd call Matt by name, but she did not appear to remember.
"Matt King," the young motorist answered.
A cry of astonishment fell from Mrs. Traquair's lips.
"I've heard my husband speak of you dozens of times!" she exclaimed.
"A friend of his, in Chicago, sent him a newspaper clipping about you.
Motor Matt is what you were called in the newspaper article, and you
had a flying machine----"
"A dirigible balloon, Mrs. Traquair," interrupted Matt. "May I take the
model?"
"Yes, yes," answered the woman eagerly, "do whatever you please--I am
sure Harry would have it so if he could be here and speak for himself.
Heaven is kind to raise me up a friend like you, at such a time."
Hope glowed in Mrs. Traquair's face--for the first time, it may be,
since her husband's death--and Matt was happy, for it was a pleasure to
know that he was doing some good in the world while helping himself.
A few minutes later, with the telescope grip in his hand, he left the
house and made his way swiftly in the direction of the hotel.