CHAPTER III.
SUSPICIOUS DOINGS.
The Stark-Frisbie Company, like most of the progressive automobileconcerns, maintained a staff of racing-drivers. Wherever there was aspeed contest, a reliability run or an endurance trial, Stark-Frisbiecars were sure to be entered.
In the early days of the industry, motor-racing was a sport. Now itis rapidly being reduced to a business. "Win at any cost," are theinstructions a firm gives its drivers. If a driver makes a mistake heis condemned for all time, and the reputation of his employers suffersin the estimation of the public. For this reason the rule of winning atany cost is carried out strictly.
Colonel Plympton was secretary of the Stark-Frisbie Company, and hadentire charge of its racing affairs. Mr. Tomlinson was an intimatefriend of the colonel's, and had engaged to secure Matt a position withhis firm. Matt, however, had never dreamed that Colonel Plympton wouldbe so eager to secure a new driver that he would call at the hotel.
Presently the colonel entered the room. In appearance he was a gooddeal of a disappointment to Matt, for he was somewhat slouchy and alittle bit shabby. Nevertheless, he had abundant dignity and an air oflarge importance.
"Mr. King?" queried the colonel, stretching out his hand toward Carl.
"Vell," chuckled Carl, "nood so you can nodice it. I peen Modor Matt'spard. Here iss der main vorks," and he waved a hand toward Matt.
"Howdy?" inquired the colonel, shaking Matt's hand. "Tomlinson told meabout you not more than an hour ago. If ever the Stark-Frisbie Companyneeded drivers of nerve and skill, they need them now. The race forthe Borden cup is only two weeks away, and we have only two drivers toqualify for it, while in such a contest it is our invariable rule tohave at least three entries. One of our best men smashed up his car inthe 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 adead one so far as racing is concerned."
The colonel had seated himself comfortably and drawn a fat cigar from avest pocket. He paused to light it, his eyes glimmering at Matt throughthe smoke.
"I've never had an accident that made me lose my nerve, ColonelPlympton," said Matt.
"Egad, I guess that's right," chuckled the colonel. "Tomlinson has toldme all about you, and I think you'll drop into our racing scheduleslike a top. Anyhow, we're willing to start you off in the Borden cuprace, providing we can make a deal with you. We don't pay our racingdrivers any salaries. Whenever there's an important race, we pay theentrance fee, running from five hundred to two thousand dollars, andwe furnish the driver with a specially constructed racing-car costingfrom twenty thousand to fifty thousand dollars. In addition, we pay thedriver from two hundred to two thousand dollars for making the race,and if he wins he gets a bonus of from one thousand to eight thousanddollars--depending on the importance of the race to us. In the Bordencup race the entrance fee is five hundred; we pay that, give you fivehundred more to make the race, furnish you with a good racing-car, andgive you a bonus of two thousand if you win."
"Hoop-a-la!" exulted Carl. "Dot means Easy Shdreed, mit a pig E. ModorMatt iss a vinner from Vinnerville."
Matt was stunned by his good fortune. The position had come to him evenbefore 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 calledOttawa, in the Sunflower state. He has been an enthusiastic patron ofautomobile racing, and of its development in the West, ever since thesport began. He's too old to race a car himself, but he travels allover this country and Europe, keeping track of the contests. The cup heoffered has been fought for for five years. Stark-Frisbie held it threeyears, hand-running. Our factory is here in Denver, so whoever wantedto take the cup away from us had to come here and race for it. Ourprincipal Western competitors are Bly-Lambert, of Kansas City. Duringthe last Colorado race, Bly-Lambert won the cup. We've tried twice toget it away from them, and as a token of appreciation of Mr. 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-Frisbieand Bly-Lambert build the fastest cars, and the issue is almostentirely 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 becomingfamiliar with the course. The car I intend to let you have is alreadyat Ottawa. Perhaps you had just as soon sign the paper to-night? Inthat event you can start for Kansas in the morning."
"Your terms are satisfactory," said Matt, "and I'll sign the agreementat once."
"That's the spirit!" approved the colonel. He drew a paper from hispocket and handed it to Matt. "Just read that over," he added.
The paper was typewritten and set forth the terms already stated bythe colonel, _i. e._, that Matt was to be furnished with a racing-car,have his entrance fee paid, and was to receive $500 for making the run,and a bonus of $2,000 if he won. His own expenses, however, were to beborne by himself.
While he was reading, the colonel was unlimbering a fountain-pen.
"Let me take the pen," said Matt, laying the paper on the table.
"You understand that thoroughly, do you?" asked the colonel, getting upand taking the paper from the table.
"It's simple enough, colonel," returned Matt.
"All right, then. Just sling your fist on the bottom line."
The colonel leaned over, laid the paper on the table, and Matt dashedoff his signature. The colonel at once picked up the paper, blew on theink to dry it, folded the document, and placed it in his pocket.
"Call at my office in the morning, King," finished the colonel, pickingup his hat, "and I'll give you a letter to our head mechanic. Goodnight, gentlemen," and the colonel sailed out.
Carl stared at the closed door, and began industriously pinchinghimself.
"Be jeerful, be jeerful!" he muttered. "Vas I treaming, oder vas I videavake? Py chimineddy, Matt, how luck climbs ofter itseluf to ged adyou! Oof you don'd preak your neck, you vas on der high roadt to moremoney as Vanderfeller or Rockypilt efer hat. How easy dot vas! Ach, dulieber! Do I go mit you py Gansas? Shpeak it oudt, kevick!"
Before Matt could "speak it out," however, the door fluttered open anda black face, topped with kinky white hair, was pushed into the room.Matt stared. The eyes of the negro met his and a wide grin parted theblack face.
"By golly! Mistah Motah Matt, suh, habn't yo' got nuffin' tuh say tuhyo' 'fishul mascot?"
"Why, Uncle Tom!" cried Matt heartily, making a jump from his chair andgrabbing the old negro by the hand. "Come in, old fellow," he added,pulling him into the room. "Where in the world did you drop from?"
"Unkle Dom!" muttered Carl. "Vell, vouldn't dot gif you derchillplains!"
"Yah, yah, yah!" cackled Uncle Tom. "Didun' 'low yo' was gwine tuh seeme, huh? Why, chile, Ah done tole yuh when we pa'ted togethah, down darin Arizony, dat I'd be waitin' fo' yo' when yo' come er prancin' 'long.Ah's yo' 'fishul mascot, Marse Matt, en Ah's been doin' er monsus lotob mascottin' fo' yo' while Ah's been er waitin'. Notice any luckcomin' yo' way, sah? Well, dat was me, jess er rootin', an' er rootin'all de hull blessed time. Seen Mistah Tomlinson dis ebenin', en he saywhah yo' was. Ah'd been up heah befo', only Ah was subsequentious todat odder caller."
Uncle Tom, beaming benevolently, slid into a chair and laid his oldslouch hat on his knee.
"How's Eliza, and Topsy, and Legree, and Little Eva?" laughed Matt.
Uncle Tom had belonged to a road company. The company had beenstranded, and Matt had helped some of the members to get back toDenver, Uncle Tom being among the number.
"Dunno nuffin' 'bout Legree an' Li'l Eva," answered Uncle Tom, "butMiss Eliza she done gone on tuh Chicawgo whah she done ketched anodderjob on de stage. Topsy's waitin' on de table fo' a swell Denvahfambly, en Ah's been promiscussin' erroun' er-waitin' fo' yo' tuhshow up. Ah's hia'd out tuh yo', sah, en whi
le dar's lots o' whitefolks pesterin' me tuh mascot fo' dem, Ah recomembahs Ah's engaged tuhyo'. Yo's er puffick gemman, en ob co'se Ah's hooked up wif yo'. Ifyo' happens tuh have a lonesome dollah rattlin' erroun' en yo' pocket,Mistah Matt, Uncle Tom allow he could make friends wif it."
"There you are, Uncle Tom," laughed Matt, flipping a coin toward theold darky.
"When does yo'-all want me tuh trabble wif yo', an' be right on de spoteb'ry minit tuh take care ob yo' luck? Dishyer luck's mighty onnerysometimes, en hit takes er keen eye en er coon dat knows hits ways an'rambiffications tuh keep hit runnin' smoof. While dat 'ar no 'countEbenezer Slocum was up heah talkin' wif yo', Ah was tu'nin' all datober en mah min', yassuh. Yo' see, Marse Matt, dat----"
"Ebenezer Slocum?" interrupted Matt. "Who's he?"
"Dat loafer dat was jess in heah wif yo'."
"Loafer!" exclaimed Matt. "You're 'way off, Uncle Tom. Why, that wasColonel Plympton, Secretary of the Stark-Frisbie Company."
"Dat? Him Kunnel Plympton? Yo's wrong, sah. Ah's mascotted fo' KunnelPlympton er quatah's wuff evah race dey had run, en Ah knows him lak Ahknows mase'f. Dat fellah dat was jess heah, Ah tells yo' fo' suah, wasEbenezer Slocum, an' he ain't nuffin' mo' dan no 'count white trash,pickin' up er dollah whahevah he can lay his han's on hit. Yassuh.We-all whats hones', en wuks fo' our money, looks down on Slocum, wesho'ly does."
Carl had jumped to his feet and was standing in front of his chair,staring at Motor Matt.
Matt was dumfounded.
Why was Ebenezer Slocum impersonating Colonel Plympton? Slocum'sactions were suspicious, to say the least.