Stanley R. Matthews

“ Besides, you are virtually a stranger; you have never driven in a motor-race—which is vastly different from ordinary driving, and requires experience—and you are rather young to enter the racing field."
"That isn't the point just now, colonel," said Matt. "I am bound to get into that race for the Borden cup, now, in order to show that my intentions are honest—and in order to prove that there is villainous work afoot and that some one is trying to make me the victim of it. I owe this to myself, and I also owe it to Mr. Tomlinson, who recommended me to you. ”

“ Carl was bubbling over with enthusiasm, and Matt, stirred as he had never been before, was more than ever determined that he would be in the race.
Twenty-one cars had been entered. Among them were several touring cars, their owners being willing to pay the entrance fee just to gratify their sporting instinct—for no touring car could ever win against those high-powered racers, stripped for action and ready to hurl themselves over the course with every ounce of power in their cylinders. ”

“ Who are you, young man, and where do you come from?"
Matt introduced himself, and presented Carl.
"Have you ever driven a racing-car?" asked Trueman, the boy's bearing and talk impressing him more and more.
"No," replied Matt, "but I'm confident I could do it. I've had a lot to do with gasoline-motors, and I've driven a good many cars."
"Come in here and look at this one," said Trueman. "Properly driven, I'll bet money we have a car that can walk away from anything Stark-Frisbie or Bly-Lambert have in the race." ”

“ As soon as Sercomb, in the last Stark-Frisbie car, had started, Plympton went over to where Trueman was standing.
"I'm glad King got back," said the colonel. "His disappearance had an ugly look."
"It still has an ugly look, Plympton," returned Trueman.
"Of course! But King's all right. That's the main point."
"It's a good thing for you that he got back," went on Trueman.
"I don't see how you figure that. If what I hear of him is true, he's a star-driver. It isn't a good thing for us to have star-drivers running cars against us." ”

“ Nothing was thought of but the race; every faculty was centered upon the question of speed, and more speed, and then a little more.
The passing of Finn, on the beautiful sweep of road between the river and Le Loup, was an exciting event. In every way possible Finn sought to block the road; yet steadily, persistently, Matt crept alongside the Bly-Lambert car, swung into the lead and hurled through Le Loup.
In the distance, well up the slope toward Coal Run, Matt and Chub could see the moving dust kicked up by Mings' car. ”

“ Matt walked into the garage and looked over the red racer. It was a chain-driven, ninety-horse-power machine, and had the savage "get-there" look of a car that, run to the limit, could be made to win.
"Glick knows how I depend on him," remarked Trueman, "so he does about as he pleases. We're giving him a thousand dollars to make the race, and a bonus of two thousand if he wins. If he doesn't spill the salt, or meet a cross-eyed man, or run into a post, he'll stand up under the strain and acquit himself in good shape." ”

“ A stout man of about forty, in automobile cap and coat, stepped to the door and glared after the retreating driver. He was greatly wrought up, and started to say something but bit the words off short. When the driver reached the sidewalk and vanished nonchalantly around a building, the man in the garage door turned his eyes on Matt and Carl.
"Of all the superstitious fools that ever lived," he cried wrathfully, "I think that man Glick takes the bun. He can handle a car better than any man I ever saw, but here he hangs up our day's work simply because this happens to be Friday!" ”

“ He was just beginning to understand what kind of a driver Sercomb was. He was getting an insight into his character which he had never had before. The revelation was disagreeable, to say the least. Plympton himself was a man of high principle, and had no patience with trickery or deceit.
"I've put up with all I'm going to from King," growled Sercomb. "He's dogged me about and is doing everything he can to ruin me."
"I've learned something about that, too," went on Plympton, his voice hard and keen. "Tomlinson told me of that affair down in New Mexico, but I took your side. ”

“ He felt himself lifted and crumpled into the front of the roadster.
"Open the doors!" ordered the driver in the car. "Number One, crank-up!"
Carl could hear the doors thrown ajar, and this noise was followed by the popping of the motor as the cylinders took the explosion.
"Remember what I say, drivers," called the leader of the gang, "and wait here for us to return. We have plans to consider."
Then the car moved off on the low gear. Carl felt it turn through the entrance and chuggety-chug up an incline; another turn and they were in the alley, another and they were in the street. ”

“ For one thing, every driver in the race had his hands full and found no time to give attention to anything else.
Sercomb, Mings, and Packard, driving Stark-Frisbie machines, had a friendly rivalry among themselves. Each wanted to drive his car to victory for the bonus which the victor was to receive, and they were attending strictly to business and learning all the ins and outs of the course. Their dislike of Matt and their desire to get the better of him seemed to be thrust aside by the weightier affairs connected with the race. ”

“ Motor Matt had for years been eager to make good as a racing-driver. He was at home with a gasoline-motor, and speed, to him, was its highest expression of power. The race for the Borden cup offered him a chance to enter the racing field, and he was not the one to turn back from the goal simply because he was encountering a few difficulties at the start. ”

“ Carl came by, rapped on the door and said good-night. While Matt listened, Carl's feet seemed to go on and on along the hall interminably. It was a queer delusion, and Matt shook back his shoulders and laughed softly.
"I mustn't let this race get on my nerves so much," he said to himself. "Nerves are bad things for a racing-driver. ”

“ Every fellow who amounts to anything is bound to make enemies."
"I want to become a racer, Colonel Plympton, and I think, if I had a chance, that I could deliver the goods."
"Why don't you hook up with the Bly-Lambert people?" asked the colonel dryly. "You seem to have established a connection in that quarter."
"I don't understand you," replied Matt.
"Oh, come, come!" exclaimed Plympton impatiently. "Do you mean to sit there and tell me you didn't have a talk with Slocum, last night?"
"Is Slocum connected with the Bly-Lambert people?" ”

“ If Matt King thinks he can come to Denver and butt into the racing game, he's some shy of the situation. The motor-drivers of this town are a little particular who they associate with. Nearly all our members will be represented in the race for the Borden cup, and King is warned to stay out of it. He is also ordered to leave Denver inside of twenty-four hours, and to make no deal with Colonel Plympton, of the Stark-Frisbie Company. Unless King follows instructions, something will happen to him. A word to the wise is sufficient. ”

“ Trueman was vastly exercised over these mishaps. He was beginning to feel as though there was something radically wrong about the car's construction, and that its chance of running well in the race, say nothing of winning, was decreasing to the vanishing point.
But Matt was not greatly disturbed.
"We're having all our troubles during the trials, Mr. Trueman," he explained, "and when the race comes we'll go over the course the six times without a hitch. Stage people say that when the last dress rehearsal goes badly the first performance is always sure to go smoothly." ”

“ That Dutchman would have eaten me up if I'd let him get close enough."
"I knew they'd chase you," went on Sercomb.
"I don't think we're gaining anything, even at that," struck in the voice of Packard. "We jump off the other train and delay ourselves just to set King back a train."
"Trueman, of the Jarrot Automobile Company, has a car in the race and he's not satisfied with his driver. I don't want King to work in there, and I intend to see Trueman and put one of our boys in his car. If we'd stayed on that other train we'd have reached Ottawa in the night. ”

“ Matt was stunned by his good fortune. The position had come to him even before he had gone to the trouble to apply for it.
"Hiram Borden," went on the colonel affably, "is a fine old sportsman. He's a millionaire several times over and lives in a little town called Ottawa, in the Sunflower state. He has been an enthusiastic patron of automobile racing, and of its development in the West, ever since the sport began. He's too old to race a car himself, but he travels all over this country and Europe, keeping track of the contests. ”

“ Matt jumped to his aid. Fists shot out of the doorway only to be countered and beaten back. The opening was wide enough for the passage of a hand-car, but not wide enough for all those in the shed to break through side by side.
Slocum, by the shift of circumstances, was juggled to the front of the struggling drivers. Matt grabbed him and hurled him against those behind. Sercomb and Packard tumbled to the floor with Slocum on top. This left Finn and Mings battling fiercely in the entrance. ”

“ Trueman and Plympton were consulting their watches nervously.
"Something's gone wrong with Sercomb," muttered Plympton. "At the rate he was going when he passed here, on the other round, he ought to have been back before this."
"The accidents can't all happen to one car," said Trueman.
"That's so; but Stark-Frisbie usually put out dependable cars. King has been having trouble with your racer almost from the start."
"It's the finish of the race that tells the story," returned Trueman.
"This will be the first race the Jarrot people ever won—providing you win it."
"It's the biggest race, at that. ”

“ The race for the Borden cup is only two weeks away, and we have only two drivers to qualify for it, while in such a contest it is our invariable rule to have at least three entries. One of our best men smashed up his car in the East and has just come out of the hospital. That eliminates him. After a close call like that, no driver ever keeps his nerve—he's a dead one so far as racing is concerned."
The colonel had seated himself comfortably and drawn a fat cigar from a vest pocket. He paused to light it, his eyes glimmering at Matt through the smoke. ”

“ Matt felt that Trueman should know all about that phase of the matter, and he went into it in detail. To his surprise Trueman reached over and grabbed his hand.
"You're just the fellow to make a showing in this race, King," said he earnestly, "and, speaking from a selfish point of view, I wouldn't have your personal relations any different. Sercomb is the fellow you'll have to beat, for he's Stark-Frisbie's crack man, and Stark-Frisbie have a car in this race that's going to walk away from all three of Bly-Lambert's. ”

“ Borden, the third race is to be run on a circuit out of his home town."
"Are there only two competitors, Colonel Plympton?" asked Matt.
"There are a dozen or more competitors in each race, but Stark-Frisbie and Bly-Lambert build the fastest cars, and the issue is almost entirely between them. As soon as you sign on for the race, King, you'll have to start for Kansas and spend the rest of the time becoming familiar with the course. The car I intend to let you have is already at Ottawa. Perhaps you had just as soon sign the paper to-night? In that event you can start for Kansas in the morning." ”

“ CHAPTER VIII. MATT INTERVIEWS TRUEMAN.
Ottawa is as pretty a little town as there is in all Kansas. The streets are wide, and level, and shaded, and through the town runs the historic Marais des Cygnes, the "river of swans"—so named by the ancient French explorers.
At this time the eyes of the Western automobile world were turned upon that part of Kansas, and representatives of more than a dozen alert motor-car manufacturers were located in Ottawa, all busily preparing for the great race. ”

“ Mounted officers patrolled the circuit and kept the crowd back of the danger line.
Each car's weight, with tanks empty, was limited to fifteen hundred pounds. The weighing-in was going forward when Trueman, Chub, and Carl reached the track. The owners of cars that were overweight had to do some more stripping while those that were under the limit found that they could take aboard some necessary appliances of which they were quick to avail themselves.
Mr. Borden, the gray-haired patron of the race, was in evidence here and there about the grounds. ”

“ Trueman was waiting at the garage, and he caught the lad's hand in a cordial grip.
"Glick went back on me sooner than I had expected," said he. "When he quit, yesterday afternoon, he told me that if the drawing hadn't been on Friday I wouldn't have got Number Thirteen. What an idiot! There are twenty-one cars in the race and some one had to have that number. My hopes are all wrapped up in you, King. If you want a start in the racing business, win the cup for the Jarrot folks."
"If the car has the speed, and no accident happens to the motor, we'll win," declared Matt. ”