Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot

Stanley R. Matthews

Literature | Completed

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Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot by Stanley R. Matthews

Chapter 16 IN ASH FORK.

08-13 19:23

Motor Matt's Mystery; or, Foiling a Secret Plot Chapter 1 A DUTCHMAN IN TROUBLE.

Whiz, bang!

"Dutchee boy no good! Have gotee mon, no makee pay. Whoosh! Allee same cheap skate!"

Whiz, bang, clatter, bang!

"Vat's der madder mit you, hey? You vas grazier as I can't tell! Py shiminy grickets, oof you hit me mit a flad-iron I vill mad be as some hornets. Shtop a leedle, und I vill--"

There followed a wild yell, a pandemonium as though Bedlam had been turned loose, and then a heavy fall and sudden quiet.

Motor Matt, just turning into the yard of a small adobe house, heard the tremendous uproar and came to a startled halt.

Hop Loo, a Chinese laundryman, lived in the house, and Matt was just coming after his week's wash.

Under a cotton-wood tree in the yard, some fifteen feet from the house, was a wash-tub mounted on a couple of chairs. Between the tree and a corner of the house, and running thence to a post set at right angles with the adobe wall, was a line strung with clothes.

Charley Sing, who worked for Hop Loo, was at the tub, up to his elbows in hot suds.

The racket in the house had claimed Charley's attention just as it had caught Matt's. Pulling his hands out of the wash-water, Charley dried them on his kimono, jerked the wash-board out of the tub, and, holding it by one leg for use as a weapon, stole toward the open door of the adobe.

Matt had been so situated that he could look into the house and catch a restricted view of what was going on. The thumping had been caused by flat-irons striking against the inner walls, each one being nimbly dodged by a fat youth of decidedly odd appearance. Hop Loo, who was ironing, had shrilly piped his denunciation of the fat boy; the latter had replied; and Hop Loo, failing to make a bull's-eye with the flat-iron, had sprung at the boy. The latter, with an astonishingly quick move, considering his size, had grabbed a rack of ironed clothes and hurled it in Hop Loo's way. Thereupon Hop Loo had turned a somersault over the clothes, and was now standing on his head very quietly in a wood-box.

"Meppy you t'ink I vas a Vandefeller, or Rockybilt," cried the fat boy, breaking the silence, "but you bet my life you got anodder guess coming. You make me some drouples, by shinks, und I don'd like dot. Goot-py, Hob Loo! Sorry dot I can't vait undil you ged right-site-oop, aber I haf pitzness in some odder blaces, und vill broceed to fly my kite!"

The fat boy turned and wabbled through the door. Matt, now that he had a good look at him, began to laugh.

"Dutchman" was written all over the boy's face. He had a mop of carroty hair, and on top of it was a little plaid cap that looked as though it was lost in the wilderness. His ample dimensions were covered with a suit whose pattern consisted of a very "loud" plaid, and under the open coat could be seen a crimson vest that made even more noise than the rest of his apparel.

As this ponderous vision ambled through the door, it was met by Charley Sing and the wash-board.

"Ged oudt oof my vay!" yelled the fat Dutch boy. "Oof you don'd, py shiminy, somet'ing is going to take blace vat is nod on der pills."

Charley, grimly determined, whirled the wash-board and let drive with it. The strength he put into the blow caused the board to leave his hands. The Dutchman dropped, the wash-board flew over his head and hit Hop Loo, who had up-ended himself and was just returning to the attack, in the pit of the stomach.

"Wow!" gurgled Hop Loo, catching his middle with both hands and doing a wild dance in his straw sandals.

Charley Sing was now thoroughly aroused. Jabbering in frantic "pidgin," he proceeded to make front on the Dutchman.

The latter, continuing to display his surprising agility, ducked sideways between Hop Loo and Charley Sing, and rushed in the direction of the cottonwood. Charley followed him with such speed that his pigtail stood straight out behind him, and the sandals flew right and left from his rapidly moving feet.

The German boy circled around the wash-tub. Charley would have circled, too, only his toes caught in a wringer that was lying on the ground, and he pitched heavily against the chairs that held the tub.

A catastrophe followed.

The tub went down, and Charlie turned a handspring in the hot suds and came up covered with foam and wet clothes.

"Whoosh!" he spluttered; "killee Dutchee boy! Allee same debble! Makee go topside!"

Falling over against the tree, he began clearing the soap-suds out of his eyes and throat. He looked like an animated drying-post, and the Dutch boy, in spite of his troubles, began to haw-haw wildly.

By that time, however, Hop Loo had recovered his wind, grabbed up a stick of stove-wood, and was bearing down on the fat Teuton with blood in his eye.

The youth saw him coming, whirled, and ran into the clothes-line. His weight ripped the line from the tree and the house-corner, and when he went on he carried it with him, the dried clothes flapping like so many distress-signals.

Perhaps the boy traveled a dozen yards. At the end of that distance, he got tangled in the rope, went down and rolled over and over, completely wrapping himself up in a choice assortment of laundry.

It is hard to tell what Hop Loo would have done when he came up with that fluttering heap that was twisting and writhing on the ground. He had the stick of wood in his hand and much bitterness in his heart, but if he struck too hard he would make a bad matter worse by damaging some of the linen. Besides, when Hop Loo got ready to take revenge, Matt was standing between him and the helpless Dutchman.

"Easy there, Hop Loo!" cried Matt.

"You no stopee China boy!" howled Hop Loo, dancing all around Matt and trying to get at the bundle. "Dutchee boy spoilee heap washee, makee plenty tlouble. Me sendee topside, you bettee!"

Grabbing Hop Loo's waving arm, Matt deftly relieved the yellow fist of the billet of wood.

"Hold up, Hop Loo," said he soothingly; "let's get down to cases on this thing and find out what's wrong."

"By jim' Klismus," shrilled Hop Loo, "he tly beatee China boy! No makee pay fo' launly! Kickee up plenty lumpus. No likee!"

"Vell, der olt rat-eader! I vas drying to tell him some t'ings und he vouldn't lis'en. He made me more drouples as you can guess, und pegan drowing me at all der flad-irons in der blace."

Matt looked around. The Dutch boy had managed to scramble to his feet and paw his head free of the clothes. A red undershirt was draped gracefully over his right shoulder, and he was completely swathed in other garments and clothes-pins.

Matt grinned. The sight was too much for him.

"Meppy id's funny," said the Dutch boy, with a wink, "aber der Chink ain't enchoying himseluf so as any vone can nodice."

"Who are you?" asked Matt.

"Carl is der lapel vat I tote, Carl Pretzel."

"Do you owe the Chinaman money?"

"Vell, I vas pusted, und I vanted him to vait undil I get some chobs, und he got mad und pegun drowing t'ings. He vould haf drowed der kitchen stof ad me, only it vas hotter as he could hantle. My, my, vat a grazy Chink id iss."

"How much does he owe you, Hop?" inquired Matt.

"Fittyfi' cent fo' launly," answered the Chinaman, "two dol' fo' spoilee clothes," and he waved a discouraged hand at the garments on the ground and at the overturned wash-tub. "Two fittyfi', you savvy? Him one piecee bad Dutchee boy."

"How much is my laundry?" asked Matt.

"Fortyfi'."

"That makes three dollars," said Matt, pulling some money from his pocket. "Take it, Hop, and call the account square. Now run in and get Carl's laundry and mine while I'm getting him out of his tangle."

The three silver dollars soothed the Chinaman's injured feelings, and he turned and vanished into the house.

"Say," cried Carl, "you vas a pooty goot feller! Vat's your name, hey?"

"Matt King."

"You lif in Ash Fork?"

"No; I'm just here waiting for a man I'm anxious to see."

"Vell, dot's my fix. I'm likevise vaitin' for a man dot I vant do see mit a club. He's aboudt my size, only not kevite so goot looging as me, und pigger oop an' down as I am der odder vay. His name iss Pringle. He vas a pad egg, I tell you dot. Can you tell me vere dot feller iss?"

Matt shook his head.

"Never heard of him, Carl," he answered.

"Chonny Hartluck has been hitting me like anyt'ing," sighed Carl, as Matt stripped away the last of the clothes-line, "und you peen der fairest friendt I haf hat since I don'd know. Shake vonce."

Carl put out his hand, and Matt grasped it cordially.

"How you t'ink I efer pay you pack dot money, Matt?" asked Carl.

"I'm not thinking much about it, one way or the other," said Matt. "No great loss, Carl, if you never pay it back."

"You vas a fine feller, und ve vill go some place und I vill tell you somet'ing."

Just then Hop Loo showed himself with two bundles of laundry. Matt took one, and Carl the other, and they left at once for the main part of the town.

There was joy in the faces of Hop Loo and Charley Sing as the Dutch boy departed, and they immediately began bringing order out of their demoralized "plant."

When they were out of the yard, and bound along the road, Carl Pretzel threw back his head and began to laugh.

"You seem to get a good deal of fun out of your troubles, Carl," remarked Matt, who had developed a deep interest in his odd companion.

"Dot's me!" guffawed Carl. "Id iss easy to be jeerful ven luck is comin' your vay, aber you bed you it takes a pooty goot feller to be jeerful ven it ain't. So dot's vy I laff mit meinseluf. I peen more jeerful now, schust pecause I vas blayin' in der vorst luck vat efer habbened, und I bed you someding for nodding it ain't eferypody vat could do dot. Now, oof I--"

Carl never finished his remark. The boys had been walking in the center of the road, and Matt suddenly heard a sound behind them and almost on their heels.

"Look out!" he yelled, grabbing Carl by the arm and giving him a jerk toward the roadside.

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