MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING
ADVENTURE
MOTOR
FICTION
NO. 10
MAY 1, 1909
FIVE
CENTS
MOTOR MATT'S
HARD LUCK
OR THE BALLOON
HOUSE PLOT
[Illustration: "This way, Dick" yelled Motor Matt
as he struck down one of the
ruffians.]
STREET & SMITH
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
MOTOR STORIES
THRILLING ADVENTURE MOTOR FICTION
_Issued Weekly. By subscription $2.50 per year. Entered according to
Act of Congress in the year 1909, in the Office of the Librarian of
Congress, Washington, D. C., by_ STREET & SMITH, _79-89 Seventh Avenue,
New York, N. Y._
No. 10. NEW YORK, May 1, 1909. Price Five Cents.
Motor Matt's Hard Luck
OR,
THE BALLOON-HOUSE PLOT.
By the author of "MOTOR MATT."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. AN OLD FRIEND.
CHAPTER II. A TRAP.
CHAPTER III. OVERBOARD.
CHAPTER IV. RESCUED.
CHAPTER V. BUYING THE "HAWK."
CHAPTER VI. MATT SCORES AGAINST JAMESON.
CHAPTER VII. AT THE BALLOON HOUSE.
CHAPTER VIII. THE PLOT OF THE BRADY GANG.
CHAPTER IX. CARL IS SURPRISED.
CHAPTER X. HELEN BRADY'S CLUE.
CHAPTER XI. JERROLD GIVES HIS AID.
CHAPTER XII. GRAND HAVEN.
CHAPTER XIII. THE LINE ON BRADY.
CHAPTER XIV. THE WOODS BY THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XV. BRADY A PRISONER.
CHAPTER XVI. BACK IN SOUTH CHICAGO.
THE RED SPIDER.
PIGEON-WHISTLE CONCERTS.
CHARACTERS THAT APPEAR IN THIS STORY.
=Matt King=, concerning whom there has always been a mystery--a lad
of splendid athletic abilities, and never-failing nerve, who has won
for himself, among the boys of the Western town, the popular name of
"Mile-a-minute Matt."
=Carl Pretzel=, a cheerful and rollicking German lad, who is led by a
fortunate accident to hook up with Motor Matt in double harness.
=Dick Ferral=, a Canadian boy and a favorite of Uncle Jack; has
served his time in the King's navy, and bobs up in New Mexico where
he falls into plots and counter-plots, and comes near losing his life.
=Helen Brady=, Hector Brady's daughter, who helps Motor Matt.
=Hector Brady=, a rival inventor who has stolen his ideas from
Hamilton Jerrold. His air ship is called the Hawk and is used for
criminal purposes. Brady's attempt to secure Motor Matt's services as
driver of the Hawk brings about the undoing of the criminal gang.
=Hamilton Jerrold=, an honest inventor who has devoted his life to
aëronautics, and who has built a successful air ship called the Eagle.
=Jameson=, a rich member of the Aëro Club, who thinks of buying the
Hawk.
=Whipple=, =Pete=, =Grove=, =Harper=, members of Brady's gang who
carried out the "balloon-house plot," which nearly resulted in a
tragedy, and finally proved the complete undoing of Hector Brady.
=Ochiltree=, an ex-convict whose past record nearly got him into
trouble.
=Harris=, a policeman of South Chicago who aids Motor Matt in his
work against the Bradys.
=Dennison and Twitchell=, police officers of Grand Haven, Michigan,
who take a part in the final capture of Brady.
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD FRIEND.
"Py chimineddy!" muttered Carl Pretzel to himself, starting up on the
couch, where he had been snatching forty winks by way of passing the
time. "Vat's dot? Der voice has some familiar sounds mit me. Lisden
vonce."
A loud, jovial voice floated in through the open window, a voice with a
swing to it that set Carl's nerves in a flutter.
"'In Cawsand bay lying,
And a Blue Peter flying,
All hands were turned up the anchor to weigh,
There came a young lady,
As fair as a May-day,
And modestly hailing, the damsel did say:
"'"I've got a young man there,
D'ye hear? Bear a hand there
To hoist me aboard or to bring him to me:
Which his name's Henry Grady,
And I am a lady,
Just come down to purwent his a-going to sea."'"
The roaring song had come closer and closer. By then it was almost
under the open window. Jumping from the couch, Carl ran across the room
and looked out.
A youth of seventeen or eighteen, wearing a sailor rig and with his hat
cocked over one eye, was lurching along with both hands in his pockets.
Behind him trailed four or five hoodlums, bunched close together and
talking among themselves.
"Here's where I quit you, you lubbers," said the young sailor, halting
at the steps leading up to the boarding-house door, and turning to the
hoodlums. "A messmate of mine berths here, and I'm going to drop in on
him and have a bit of a chat over old times. 'Bout ship, the lot of
you, and make a good offing. I don't like the cut of your jibs any too
well, anyhow. Slant away, slant away."
The sailor backed up against a post at the bottom of the steps.
"Say, yous ole webfoot," said one of the hoodlums, "loosen up, can't
yous, an' fork over the price o' a drink, all around?"
The fellow shambled closer to the sailor and held out one hand with an
expectant grin.
"Not a bob will I give you for a tot of drink," answered the sailor,
"for I'll be keelhauled if you don't look as though you'd already been
topping the boom too much for your own good, but I'll loosen up, as you
call it, for a good meal all around."
His hand went into the pocket of his trousers and he drew out a big
roll of bills. A greedy gleam darted into the hoodlum's eyes as he
glimpsed the bundle of money, and those at his back pushed closer
together, nudging each other in the ribs and pointing while the
sailor's head was bent.
Suddenly the rascal who had acted as spokesman for the rest made a leap
and a grab.
"Avast there, you loafing longshore scuttler!" yelled the young tar.
"What sort of a beachcomber's trick do you call that?"
The hoodlum had whirled, the roll in his hands, and was making off as
fast as his legs could carry him. The sailor sprang after him, but
the rest of the thieving pack jumped in his way and began using their
fists, hoping to give their pal the necessary time to get clear with
the money.
Carl Pretzel, with an angry shout, withdrew from the open window,
dashed from the room, down the stairs and out at the front door.
Without paying any attention to the sailor and those with whom he was
tussling, the Dutch boy rushed past the struggling group and made a bee
line after the thief.
Carl was too fat for a swift sprinter, but the thieving hoodlum was
handicapped by a game leg, and Carl was able to overhaul him slowly.
Looking over his shoulder in order to take in the situation behind,
the thief saw the Dutch boy, and redoubled his efforts to get away. An
alley lay just ahead, and the thief turned into it. Carl plunged after
him, but when he got into the alley, the fellow with the money had
mysteriously vanished.
"Dot's a funny t'ing!" panted Carl, coming to a halt and peering
around. "Vere dit he go mit himseluf?"
Garbage barrels and boxes lined the alley on both sides. Carl started
onward again, peering sharply behind each garbage receptacle as he
advanced. Suddenly he discovered the man he was looking for, crouching
behind a big box.
Carl was a little way beyond the box before he caught sight of the
thief.
"Dere you vas!" he yelled, as he faced about. "Now I ged you, und I
dake avay vat you got--yah, so helup me!"
He rushed at the thief, and the latter got up, squirmed around the end
of the box, and leaped for the side of a shed whose wall stood flush
with the alley.
The shed had a square opening, about four feet from the ground, for
convenience in unloading wood. The thief had his eye on the opening. If
he could get into the shed, he probably reasoned, he could run through
into the back yard of the house, gain the street in front, and so,
undoubtedly, evade his fat pursuer.
But he didn't make it. By the time he was half through the opening,
Carl was close enough to grab his thrashing feet, and he hung onto them
like grim death.
"How you like dot, hey?" jubilated the Dutch boy. "You findt oudt, py
shimmy, dot it don'd vas so easy to ged avay mit money dot don'd pelong
mit you. Oof you shkin oudt, you leaf your feet pehind, und oof you
don't come pack indo der alley, den I pull you in two. How vas dot for
some fixes?"
"Wot's de matter wit' yous?" came the angry, muffled voice from inside
the shed. "Le'go 'r I'll kick a hole in your face!"
"You vill I don'd t'ink," puffed Carl, still hanging to the feet. "Gif
oop der money, you dinhorn, oder I turn you ofer py der bolice und you
go to der lockoop."
The hoodlum made no move to return the money, but continued to struggle
wildly. With a firm hold on each ankle, Carl laid back and pulled for
all he was worth; but the thief had caught hold of something inside and
all Carl's pulling didn't get him an inch toward the alley.
While the whole matter was at a deadlock, the thief half in half out of
the shed, and Carl tugging fruitlessly, the young sailor appeared at
the end of the alley. Taking quick note of the situation at the shed,
he gave a yell and bore down in that direction.
"Well, strike me lucky, old ship," cried the young tar, "this is my
busy day and no mistake. Is that the duffing son of a flounder that got
away with my wad?"
"He iss der feller, Verral," panted Carl. "He don'd vant to come out
oof der vood shet."
"Hang onto his pins, matey," was the answer, "and I'll fix him."
The sailor pushed his hands through the hole, grabbed the hoodlum by
the throat, and exerted a steady pressure.
This manoeuvre was successful. Half strangled, the thief's clutching
fingers relaxed their hold, and the sailor and Carl, between them,
managed to drag him back into the alley.
"Now, you pirate," cried the sailor, dropping down on the captive,
"where's that money? That was a raw play you made and you might have
pulled it off if it hadn't been for my mate, here. D'you want to go
below, in irons? Where's the roll?"
"Look in his bocket vonce," suggested Carl.
"I'll kill you fer dis!" fumed the hoodlum.
"Stow that!" growled the sailor. "I've a knife at the end of my
lanyard, but there's nothing about this that calls for cold steel.
Drop down on his feet, Carl, and that will hold him steady while I go
through his clothes."
While the Dutch boy sat on the hoodlum's feet, the sailor was able
to push his hands into the thief's pockets. The roll was found and
appropriated, and both boys leaped up.
The hoodlum floundered erect.
"I'll git even fer dis!" he scowled. "Yous can't run in dat kind of a
play on Nifty Perkins an' make it stick."
"Bear away!" cried the sailor angrily. "Maybe that'll help you," and he
gave the villainous scoundrel a kick that sent him two yards on his way
toward the street.
The hoodlum turned to shake his fist, and mutter a threat, then started
off at a run. When he reached the street, the rest of his pals joined
him. For a time they hung about the alley entrance, apparently trying
to make up their minds whether it would be wise to attack the sailor
and Carl in force.
"Donnervetter!" cried Carl. "Dot looks like a shance for some
scrappings. I don'd vas looking for drouple, aber you bed somet'ing for
nodding dot I don'd dodge any. Come along mit yourseluf, Verral! Led's
gif dem fellers Hail Golumby."
"Cut away!" shouted the young sailor. "The swabs that ran foul of me
bolted as soon as you crossed that other chap's hawse. I'd like to
square my score with them."
But the hoodlums did not wait. Carl and the sailor looked altogether
too war-like. By the time the two boys reached the end of the alley,
the street rowdies had taken to their heels.
"A jolly fine lot they are!" cried the sailor contemptuously. "You
saved my roll for me, Carl. Haven't had time to shake your hand before,
but I can do it now to the king's taste. Your flipper, mate!"
Carl gripped the sailor's hand.
"Vat a surbrise it iss!" he exclaimed. "I don'd haf time to say mooch
aboudt dot, eider, aber ven I heardt you singing mit yourself, und
looked oudt oof der vinder und saw dot you vas Tick Verral, I ketched
my breat' a gouple oof times. Vere you come from, Tick?"
"From Denver, messmate," answered Dick Ferral. "My uncle supplies me
with plenty of money, but just the same I'd hate to lose that roll. He
made me a present of it when I started for Quebec. But where's my old
raggie, Motor Matt? I stopped off here in Chicago just to see him. Got
his address from the Lestrange automobile people, and I'm fair hungry
to grip his fin, once more. I'll never forget what Matt King did for
me--and my uncle won't, either."
"He don'd vas in Chicago schust now, Tick," said Carl. "He vill be
pack in two or dree tays, meppy. Anyhow, oof he don'd come pack py
do-morrow, meppy ve go oudt vere he iss, und see him? Vat you t'ink oof
dot?"
Dick Ferral's disappointment was keen, and he showed it plainly.
"How far is he from here, Carl?" he asked.
"Only a leedle vays. It iss in a blace vat dey call Sout' Chicago."
"What's Matt doing out there?"
"Vell, ve hat some ructions oudt dere--a mighdy high olt time, you bed
you. Look at here vonce. Ven you read somet'ing, den you vill know
more."
Carl pulled a newspaper out of his pocket and held it under Ferral's
eyes, indicating a certain paragraph with his finger.
What Ferral read was this:
"For Sale--The practicable air ship, Hawk, fully equipped with gasoline
motor, rudders, propellers, and almost new gas bag. Apply to Chief of
Police, South Chicago, Illinois."