Chapter III: Matt Makes an Investment

Murgatroyd, his face distorted with anger and his little eyes snapping viciously, was clutching a slender, middle-aged woman by the arm. He had leaped at her, in a burst of rage, overturning the chair, which happened to stand in his way.

Matt's unceremonious entrance into the room startled Murgatroyd. Releasing his grasp of Mrs. Traquair's arm, he fell back a step, staring at Matt as though at a ghost.

Mrs. Traquair was so desperate and frightened that she was not nearly so startled by the lad's spring through the window as was Murgatroyd. From Matt's manner she was not long in realizing that fate had sent her a champion at just the moment when she needed one most. Instinctively, she drew toward the youth, half fearful and half appealing.

"Ah, King!" exclaimed Murgatroyd, struggling to get the whip hand of himself. "Rather a peculiar way you have of coming into a house," he added, with some sarcasm.

"It looked as though I was needed," returned Matt grimly.

"You'd better look again. You're not needed. This is a little money transaction between Mrs. Traquair and myself. Isn't that so, Mrs. Traquair?" he queried, turning to the woman.

"Y-e-s," answered Mrs. Traquair, her voice so low it was almost a whisper.

"Don't butt in here, King," scowled Murgatroyd. "You hear what the lady says. This is none of your business."

"That's where I differ from you," said Matt sturdily. "If I'm not mistaken, you were using me as a club to drive Mrs. Traquair into signing that paper," and he nodded toward a document that was lying on the table near pen and ink.

"Don't make any misstatements, sir," blustered the broker.

"And don't you," cautioned Matt. "I overheard you tell Mrs. Traquair that you would have to pay a thousand or two in order to get me to risk my life flying that aëroplane. As a matter of fact, Mr. Murgatroyd, you did not offer to pay me a cent. I was to exhibit the machine, then, if the government bought it for fifteen thousand dollars, I was to have half."

The red ran into Murgatroyd's face.

"How do you know that I was referring to you?" he demanded.

"I know it, and that's enough." Matt picked the paper from the table. "I'll just look over this and see----"

"Give that to me!" cried Murgatroyd, stepping toward Matt and making a grab at the document.

Matt jumped back quickly and thrust the paper behind him.

"Mrs. Traquair," said he to the woman, "I want to be a friend of yours. May I read this?"

"So--so far as I am concerned," the woman whispered, with a frightened look at the broker.

"By thunder," exploded Murgatroyd, "I'll not stand for this! Give that up, King, or I'll have the law on you."

"The law won't touch me," said Matt. "This paper was prepared by you for Mrs. Traquair to sign; as a friend of Mrs. Traquair's I have the right to look the trap over before you spring it."

"Well, of all the impudence---- Say, I wouldn't let you fly that aëroplane for me if it never got a try-out at Fort Totten. I'll be even with you for this, my lad! I'll--I'll----"

Murgatroyd choked up with wrath and could not finish. Meanwhile, Matt had glanced at the paper. One glance was sufficient.

"This, Mrs. Traquair," said he, "is a document conveying all your right, title, and interest in your late husband's aëronautical inventions, and in the aëroplane now in the post trader's store at Fort Totten, to Amos Murgatroyd. And the consideration is three hundred dollars. You will not sign it, of course?"

"But what am I to do?" faltered the woman hopelessly.

"Whatever you do, Mrs. Traquair, you must not sign away your interest in what may perhaps prove valuable property, for such a small sum."

Then Matt, with steady hands, ripped the document into ribbons.

If Murgatroyd had been angry before, he was fairly beside himself now.

"You--you young scoundrel," he cried, shaking his fist, "I'll teach you to meddle in my business affairs. This isn't the last of this, not by a long chalk. I'll have this woman and her brats out in the street before night. I'll----"

"You'll keep a respectful tongue between your teeth, that's what you'll do," and Motor Matt stepped resolutely toward the broker.

There was something in the lad's bearing that caused Murgatroyd to grab his hat and retreat precipitately to the door.

"You'll hear from me, the pair of you," he snarled, "before you're many hours older."

Then the door slammed. Through the open window, edged with its torn streamers of mosquito net, Matt could see the broker hustling through the gate. A choking sob struck on the lad's ears, and he whirled to find Mrs. Traquair in a chair, her face in her hands.

There were ample evidences of poverty in the bare little front room, and the appearance of the woman herself testified eloquently of a fierce effort to keep the wolf from the door by grinding toil. Matt's heart was full of sympathy for her in her trouble.

"Don't take it so hard, Mrs. Traquair," said Matt, stepping to her side. "There may be a way out of this."

She lifted her head.

"No, there is no way out," she answered, in a stifled voice, "you don't know Mr. Murgatroyd! You don't know what it means to owe him money and not be able to pay him even the interest."

"How much do you owe him?"

"Just a thousand dollars."

"But he said the interest due, if I recall his words, was one hundred and fifty dollars."

"That's right--fifteen per cent."

"Fifteen per cent? Great spark-plugs! Why, that's usury."

"Not out here. Harry borrowed the money on our homestead, up in Wells County. He needed it to build his aëroplane, and he needed a lot more that he raised by selling his live stock and farming tools and some of the furniture. He thought he'd get everything back when he showed what the aëroplane could do, and sold it to the government. But--but the very machine that was to make our fortune has taken his life, and--and what am I to do?"

Mrs. Traquair's face went down into her reddened, toil-worn hands again.

"There may be a way out of this, Mrs. Traquair," said Matt. "It's clear, I think, that Murgatroyd is a thief and a scoundrel. If he didn't believe there was merit in your husband's invention he wouldn't be trying to get hold of it. Have you any drawings, or papers from the patent office, that I can look at to get an idea of what the aëroplane is like?"

"There is a model----"

"Good! A model will do better than anything else."

Mrs. Traquair went into another room and brought out an old "telescope" grip. Unbuckling the straps with fingers that still trembled, she lifted out of the grip and held up for Matt's inspection the beautifully constructed model of an aëroplane.

Matt sat down in a chair and took the model on his knees. For all of ten minutes he studied the small machine, his eyes glowing with amazement and delight.

"I haven't had much experience with aëroplanes," said Matt finally, lifting his eyes to Mrs. Traquair's, "but I've put in a good deal of time studying them. I came to Jamestown in the hope that I could make a deal with Murgatroyd and get a little practical work with a real flying machine. When I first met Murgatroyd I didn't understand the circumstance so well as I do now; and after overhearing what I did while standing outside that window, and after inspecting this model, I am more anxious than ever to make an acquaintance with the larger machine at Fort Totten. You haven't signed any papers giving Murgatroyd a hold on that machine, have you, Mrs. Traquair?"

"I haven't put my name to anything," declared the woman. "Harry had arranged for the government test, and had sent the machine to Fort Totten before the--the accident. After that, Mr. Murgatroyd came here and said he would have to take the aëroplane, and get some one to fly it, unless I could pay him the interest money. What could I do?" The poor woman made a pathetic gesture with her hands. "There were the funeral expenses to pay, and I could not even think of paying the interest. Mr. Murgatroyd said that he would try and find some one who was fool enough to risk his neck in the aëroplane, and that if he could find such a person he would talk with me again. That was the reason he came here this morning."

Matt placed the model on the table, and walked thoughtfully up and down the room.

"There are two or three ideas embodied in this aëroplane, Mrs. Traquair," said he, halting in front of the woman, "that seem to me to be of immense value. Do you know whether Mr. Traquair protected the ideas with patents?"

"Harry said that all his inventions were securely protected. I can find the papers if you----"

"Your word is enough, for the present. A friend of mine came to Jamestown with me, and we have a little money which we would like to invest. Now, I will make this proposition: If you will give me an order on the post trader at Fort Totten for the aëroplane, I will go to the fort at once and familiarize myself with the machine; then, when the time for the government test arrives, I'll put the aëroplane through its paces. If the try-out is a success, then I and my friend are to have half of the fifteen thousand dollars to be paid for the machine. I will stand my own expenses, and, in addition, will give you five hundred dollars. You can take some of this money and pay Murgatroyd his interest; then, if the trial at Totten is a success, you will have plenty to take up the mortgage. Understand, I am not buying an interest in the invention--that, I firmly believe, is worth more than I could pay--but I am buying a half interest in what the government is to hand over, providing the government officials are pleased with the performance of the aëroplane."

Mrs. Traquair was so overwhelmed she could hardly speak.

"I don't want to rob you," she protested; "I don't want to rob anybody, or----"

Matt interrupted her with a laugh.

"I'm willing to take a chance, Mrs. Traquair," said he. "If you will come to the Gladstone House at three o'clock this afternoon, we'll have a lawyer draw up the papers, and I'll give you your money. Can I take that model with me to the hotel? I'm a stranger to you, so I'll leave twenty dollars in place of the model."

"Who'll I ask for when I come to the hotel?" inquired Mrs. Traquair.

This unexpected stroke of fortune seemed to have dazed her. She had heard Murgatroyd call Matt by name, but she did not appear to remember.

"Matt King," the young motorist answered.

A cry of astonishment fell from Mrs. Traquair's lips.

"I've heard my husband speak of you dozens of times!" she exclaimed. "A friend of his, in Chicago, sent him a newspaper clipping about you. Motor Matt is what you were called in the newspaper article, and you had a flying machine----"

"A dirigible balloon, Mrs. Traquair," interrupted Matt. "May I take the model?"

"Yes, yes," answered the woman eagerly, "do whatever you please--I am sure Harry would have it so if he could be here and speak for himself. Heaven is kind to raise me up a friend like you, at such a time."

Hope glowed in Mrs. Traquair's face--for the first time, it may be, since her husband's death--and Matt was happy, for it was a pleasure to know that he was doing some good in the world while helping himself.

A few minutes later, with the telescope grip in his hand, he left the house and made his way swiftly in the direction of the hotel.