CHAPTER VI.
A BLUNDER IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.
Ping had felt certain that his move in touching off the Roman candlehad not been seen. It was a disagreeable surprise to him, therefore,when Bill Wily told Carl just who was responsible for the fireworks.
Ping and Carl were trying hard to be pards. Their hearts were not inthe attempt, for deep in the spirit of each one slumbered a latentanimosity against the other. But they had to try to fraternize. MotorMatt had issued an edict to the effect that, if they did not becomepards, he and McGlory would cut them out of the motor boys' combination.
So the lads did their utmost to appear friendly. They wandered aroundtogether, and whenever Matt or McGlory was in sight they locked armsand addressed each other in terms of endearment. When they were awayfrom Matt and McGlory they still kept up the pretense, but in a mannerthat was more subdued.
Ping could not resist the temptation to touch a match to the Romancandle. He had not expected to cause such a disturbance, and the factthat chaos had reigned in the side show, and that his culpability hadbecome known, filled him with apprehension.
Carl would tell Matt, and Matt would sidetrack his Chinese pard. Pingworried, and had no desire to see Matt, or any one else. The showwas to be at Reid's Lake for three days, and there was no Sundayperformance. Ping, therefore, could flock by himself until Mondayafternoon.
Ping's work consisted of watering the steam calliope, and in helpingthe a?roplane take its running start for the flights. Owing to thewind, there would be no morning flight, and--very likely, as he arguedto himself--no afternoon ascension, either. And Ping knew Motor Mattwould not work on Sunday.
Taken all in all, this was a most propitious time for Ping to absenthimself from the show grounds. With the idea that he would go intoGrand Rapids and hunt up some of his countrymen, he left the groundsand made his way around the concert garden to the car-line loop.
Here his nerve began to fail him, and he allowed two or three carsto come and go without getting aboard. Finally he bolstered up histottering resolution and climbed into one of the cars.
Looking through the open window, after he had taken his seat, he sawWily Bill swing up by the hand rails.
Ping was asking himself what this could mean when the car pulled out.A little worried, he knew not for what reason, he got up from his seatand walked to the forward platform, thinking it well to keep out ofBill Wily's sight.
Suddenly he became aware of something. A voice, from far behind, wasshouting for the car to stop. The passengers, thrusting their headsfrom the windows, were looking back, and some of them were talkingexcitedly.
Ping, hanging out from the lower step, turned his gaze rearward, andwhat he saw caused his heart to thump wildly against his ribs.
One of the little two-wheeled devil wagons was rushing along the roadthat paralleled the track, coming like a limited choo-choo train, andMotor Matt was in the saddle!
Ping had but one thought. The Dutch boy had told Matt about the Romancandle, and Matt was chasing the street car in order to remove hisChinese pard, read the riot act to him, and cast him adrift.
What a turn Ping had! He crouched down on the step, and the clatter ofthe gong, as the conductor gave the motorman the bell from the rearplatform, sent a shiver of dread through his nerves.
Rather than face Matt and be cut out of the motor boys' combination,Ping would have done almost anything. The only thing that suggesteditself at that moment was to jump and run. His original intention tolie low until the Roman-candle incident blew over grew stronger in hismind.
The car was beginning to slow down, but it was still proceeding at alively gait when Ping threw himself straight out from the lower step.
The Chinese boy did not know the proper way to alight from a swiftlymoving trolley car, and the result of his leap can be imagined.
The passengers who were looking out from that side of the car had avision of a small Chinaman in the air, pigtail flying. The next instantthe Chinaman touched ground, but found it moving too fast for a securefoothold. Ping bounded into the air again, his slouch hat going in onedirection, his sandals in another, and he himself describing what istechnically known as a parabola. The Le Bons--the best "kinkers" in theBig Consolidated--could not have twisted themselves into more fantasticshapes than did Ping during that stunt of ground-and-lofty tumbling. Helanded on the ground like a frog taking to the water from the top ofa toadstool, and he wound up his performance by throwing a number ofchoice cartwheels and then sitting up in the dust and looking around inconsiderable mental perturbation.
About the first thing he saw and was able to realize was that anotherbesides himself had made a jump from the car. The other was Wily Bill,and he must have dropped from the rear platform a little before Pingdropped from the platform forward.
Wily Bill, however, must have known how to jump from a swiftly movingcar and yet keep his balance, for he was on his feet and making a dashfor a brushy bank at the roadside.
Motor Matt had swerved his motor cycle and was making in the "barker's"direction, calling loudly the while for him to stop.
The light that dawned on Ping, just then, was a good balm for hisbruises.
Matt was not chasing him, after all, but had been hot on the trail ofWily Bill!
While Ping sat there in the dust, hat and sandals gone, his clothestorn and awry, and himself more or less disorganized, he saw Wily Billscramble up the steep bank and vanish among the bushes on the top ofit. Possibly thirty seconds later, Matt sprang from the motor cycle,leaped up the ascent like an antelope, and likewise vanished.
"By Klismus!" murmured Ping, rubbing his knees. "Velly funny pidgin! Myno savvy. One piecee queer biz, you bettee. Wow! China boy all blokeeup! Motol Matt no wanchee pullee pin on China boy. Hoop-a-la!"
Between his physical pain on account of his bruises and his rejoicingover the discovery that Matt had not been following him, Ping failedto observe that the street car had stopped and backed up to the placenearest the spot where he was crooning to himself and rubbing hisbruised limbs. It was not until the conductor and the motorman facedhim that Ping realized that he was the object of their consideration.
"Didju fall off?" asked the conductor.
"No makee fall," answered Ping, cocking up his almond eyes, "makeejump."
"Blamed wonder yu didn't break yer neck!" growled the motorman. "Chinksdon't know nothin' anyhow."
"Hurt?" asked the conductor, animated by a laudable desire to avoid adamage suit in behalf of the company.
"Heap sore," chattered Ping, "no bleakee bone. Hoop-a-la!" hejubilated, a wide grin cutting his yellow face in half. "Woosh!" headded, as the grin faded and a look of pain took its place.
"Well, I'm stumped!" muttered the conductor. "Is he crazy, or what?" headded, looking at the motorman.
"Pass it up," snapped the motorman. "Chinks is only half baked, bestyou can say for 'em. Let's snake 'im aboard and go on. We've lostenough time."
One got on either side of Ping and lifted him to his feet. They wouldhave dragged him to the car had he not resisted.
"Leavee 'lone!" he shouted, squirming.
"Oh, snakes!" ground out the exasperated motorman. "Ain't you fer theRapids?"
"No wanchee go Glan' Lapids!" declared Ping. "Why my makee jump mywanchee go Glan' Lapids?"
"That's so," said the conductor. "What did he jump from the car for ifhe wanted to go on with us? We'll leave him, Jim. I thought, when I sawhim hit the ground, we'd have to take him to the hospital, but he seemsto be all right."
Jim, with an angry exclamation, let go of Ping and hustled back tohis place at the front end of the car. The conductor mounted the rearplatform, and the starting bell jingled.
As the passengers looked back, they saw the Chinese boy attempt a wardance in his stocking feet, then suddenly cease and reach down to clasphis right shin.
"He's got out o' some lunatic asylum," thought the conductor. "Well,it's none o' my funeral," he added, and went into the car and bega
ncollecting fares.
Ping, when the car was out of sight, limped around collecting hisscattered wardrobe. While he was about it, he was wondering, in hisfeeble way, why Motor Matt was chasing Bill Wily.
Probably, he reasoned, Wily had cut up so rough with Carl that Matt hadthought best to pursue the man and call him to account.
Ping was not in very good condition to take part in the chase, but ifhe could manage it, and proved of some assistance to Motor Matt, sucha move would go far toward making his peace with the king of the motorboys.
"My makee tly," groaned Ping, limping to the place where the motorcycle had been left.
With infinite patience he crawled up the steep slope. One of his legsfelt as though it didn't belong to him--it seemed more like a cork legthan anything else, and was numb from ankle to thigh. But, somehow, hemanaged to get up the bank with it. Pausing there, he called aloud forMotor Matt. His voice echoed weirdly in the scant timber of the rockyground in front of him, and the shout brought no response.
"My findee Motol Matt," declared the Chinese lad to himself, as helimped into the timber. "My ketchee Motol Matt, mebby ketchee WilyBill. Woosh! Hoop-a-la!"