PING PONG OBJECTS.

Motor Matt's first intention was to fish the China boy out of the water. He had barely started in the lad's direction, however, when he saw McGlory teetering on the edge of the wharf and throwing a rope.

"Whoosh!" gulped the China boy, as he bobbed to the surface and laid hold of the rope. "No likee boatee! My gottee, no wantee. Whoosh!"

Seeing that the lad was as good as rescued, Matt turned his attention to the runaway launch. By some freak of the steering gear the boat was cutting away in a straight line.

The rowboat Matt had secured for the occasion had been tied well to the south of the piles into which the Chinese had run the Sprite. The launch, describing a turn before she struck into a straightaway course, would have to pass a point directly abreast of Matt.

By quick work with the oars he could reach the point in time to lay hold of the launch.

Under his strong arms the rowboat leaped out across the water, and then, with a quick push on one oar and an equally quick pull on the other, the boat was laid broadside on to the course the runaway Sprite was taking.

Not a second too soon was this accomplished. Hardly had Matt dropped the oars when the Sprite came plunging up beside him.

Leaning out over the side of the rowboat, he grabbed the gunwale of the Sprite. Both boats were hauled together, and the rowboat was towed along at a fierce clip—but only for a moment.

Out of one boat and into the other Matt scrambled, deftly avoiding the swamping of either craft. A minute later he was at the steering wheel and the levers, and had slowed down and turned the Sprite back.

Yells and cheers greeted his successful manoeuvre; and when he regained the wharf, towing the rowboat, a dozen willing hands reached down to catch and secure the painters.

"A dandy piece of work, you hear me!" bellowed one of the crowd.

"You didn't expect Motor Matt to play lame duck while pullin' off a trick like that, did you?" came the voice of McGlory. "Shucks! that was as easy for him as sitting in at grub pile."

"Say," cried the blear-eyed person, "is he the young thunderbolt as brought that submarine around from the Atlantic?"

"He's the chap."

This piece of information caused the crowd to develop a tremendous amount of interest in the king of the motor boys—more interest than he cared to claim.

"Where's the Chinaman, Joe?" he asked, with difficulty extricating himself from the crowd, and making his way to McGlory's side.

"Right here, Matt," answered the cowboy, leading the way to a pile of old timber on which the dejected Celestial was sitting. "He ain't feelin' quite as chipper as he was a spell ago. 'Melican man's boatee didn't set well, and he's got a bad attack of the blues."

"Hello, Charley!" exclaimed Matt, leaning forward and slapping the yellow boy on his wet shoulder. "Where do you want that boat? I'll take it across the bay for you if that's where you want it to go."

"No wantee," was the doleful reply. "Him debble boat; go sizz-sizz-sizzle, mebby so sendee China boy topside."

"But you've won it, and it's yours."

"No wantee," was the decided response. "My givee you fi' dol you takee."

McGlory exploded a laugh and fell down the timbers.

"Speak to me about that, will you?" he gasped. "He's willing to give you five dollars, Matt, to take the boat off his hands."

The blear-eyed man pushed closer.

"See here, chink," said he, "don't you be a fool jest because you got a chanst. What's the use of givin' a feller money to take the boat? I'll give you a ten-dollar bill for it, if that's the way you feel."

McGlory pulled himself off the pile of timber and stepped in front of the man.

"I wonder if you wouldn't?" he scoffed.

"What's it to you, anyhow?" growled the man. "Who give you any right to butt in? If the chink wants to sell the boat I got a right to buy it."

"You ain't got a right to rob him, howsumever, and I'm not going to loaf around with my hands in my pockets and see you do it."

"Blather! What's a chink, anyhow?"

"A chap's got to be treated square," spoke up Matt, "no matter whether his skin's white, black, or yellow."

"Look here, Charley," persisted the man, "I'll give you fifty cold dollars for that boat."

"I'll give him seventy-five," put in another man. "If the launch is going at a bargain I might as well hand over a bid. What do you say, Charley?"

The China boy's little eyes began to snap and sparkle as the idea of profit drifted through his head.

"Let them bid, Charley," said Matt. "I'll give you ten dollars more than the highest bid they make."

This headed off any further attempt to get the better of the Chinaman. After lingering in the vicinity for a few minutes, the last of the crowd departed in the direction of the ferry house.

"You takee boat," said the Chinaman to Matt. "You ketchee, you takee. Huh?"

"For how much?" queried Matt. "I haven't any use for the craft, Charley, and I was merely bidding to keep those other fellows from robbing you."

"Wisht I had some money," muttered McGlory. "I'll get a letter from Tucson in a day or two, and I reckon it'll have a wad of dinero in it for me. Lend me enough to buy that boat, Matt, and I'll fork over as soon as I make the raise."

"I'd be glad to lend you money, Joe, for anything but that," answered Matt. "You don't need the Sprite any more than I do, so, if I don't lend you any funds you can't buy the boat."

"That's just like a hired man, Matt, and not like a real pard," mumbled McGlory. "But you're doing the right thing, at that."

"Me allee same Ping Pong," piped up the Celestial, picking up the slack of his kimono and wringing the water out of it. "Ah Choo makee lun launly, fire Ping Pong, you savvy? Whoosh! My no gottee job allee mo'."

"That's rough," commiserated the cowboy, with a wink in Matt's direction. "Little Ping Pong here worked for Ah Choo, and the old sneeze pulled the pin on him. What was that for, Ping?"

"My takee ticket flom 'Melican man fol washee-washee," explained the China boy. "Ah Choo no likee; him tellee Ping Pong makee skip, nevel come back allee mo'."

"Listen to that!" went on McGlory. "A flat-faced swatty owin' Ah Choo a dollar for the week's wash, blows into the laundry emporium and trades a ticket on the raffle with Ping Pong here for the amount of his debt. When Ah Choo hears the particulars, he ditches Ping. Ping comes over to Tiburon, wins the boat, and tries to make it do a handspring over a clump of piles. Between you and me, Matt, we pull him out of the briny and save the boat, and here he is, worryin' because he's out of a job and never thinking about the eighty-five pesos that are bound to drop into his yellow palms!"

"China boy workee fo' you," chirped Ping Pong, reaching out to grab Matt's hand. "You takee boat, givee Ping Pong job."

"There's your chance," grinned McGlory. "Take on the chink, Matt, and you corral the boat. It's no rhinecaboo he's running in, either. He means every word of it."

Matt's eyes wandered in the direction of the ferry house.

"The next boat is about to leave," said he hurriedly. "You take Ping and go on the boat, Joe, and I'll follow you with the Sprite. You'll find me on the water front near the foot of Clay Street. When we get back there we'll find some way out of this difficulty. I haven't any more use for the Chinaman than I have for the boat, but I should think we could sell the boat for somewhere near what she's worth and then turn the proceeds over to Ping. That ought to keep him going until he finds a job that suits him."

"Keno!" agreed McGlory, grabbing the Celestial by the arm. "Come on, Ping, and we'll strike a bee line for the ferry."

As they hurried off, Motor Matt returned to the landing and to the Sprite. He was only a few moments casting off and starting across the bay.

Destiny was lying in wait for him. Fate knows her business, and never juggles events into such a state as they were then without having a well-defined object in view.