Motor Matt.

Lattimer Jurgens, an unscrupulous person who, for some time, has been at daggers drawn with Archibald Townsend.

Whistler, an able lieutenant of Lat Jurgens.

Cassidy, Burke and Harris, comprising the crew of the Grampus.

"The Man from Cape Town," who does not appear in the story but whose influence is nevertheless made manifest.

McMillan and Holcomb, police officers.

CHAPTER I.

CARL AS BUTTINSKY.

"Py shinks, aber dot's funny! Dose fellers look like dey vas birates, or some odder scalawags. Vat vas dey doing, anyvays, in a blace like dis?"

It was on the beach at Atlantic City, New Jersey. Carl Pretzel was there, in a bathing suit.

Those who know the Dutch boy will remember that he was fat, and there is always something humorous about a fat person in a bathing suit.

Carl had been in the water. After swimming out as far as the end of the steel pier, he had returned and climbed up on the beach. An Italian happened to be passing with a pushcart loaded with "red-hots" and buns. Carl had a dime pinned in the breast of his abbreviated costume. He unpinned the dime, bought two "red-hots" and a bun, and fell down in the sand to rest and enjoy himself. The Italian lingered near him, staring with bulging eyes to a place on the beach a little way beyond Carl. The Dutch boy, observing the trend of the Italian's curiosity, looked in the same direction.

A girl was kneeling on the beach, tossing her arms despairingly. She was a pretty girl, her clothes were torn and wet, and her long, dark hair was streaming about her shoulders.

Certainly it was a curious sight, there in that densely populated summer resort, to see a young woman acting in that manner. Up on the board walk above the beach a gaping throng had gathered. A little way from the board walk a man seemed to be doing something with a photograph instrument.

Carl, intensely wrought up, floundered to his bare feet, a "red-hot" in one hand and half a bun in the other. Any one in distress always appealed to Carl—particularly a woman.

From the woman, Carl's eyes drifted toward the water. A boat was pulling in, and was close to the shore. There were three men in the boat, two at the oars and one standing in the bow. They were a fierce-looking lot, those men. All were of swarthy hue, had fierce black mustaches, gold rings in their ears, heads covered with knotted handkerchiefs over which were drawn stocking caps, and all wore sashes through which were thrust long, ancient-looking knives and pistols.

The man in the bow, whom Carl could see almost entirely, had on a pair of "galligaskins," or short, wide trousers, and immense jack boots.

The ruffians in the boat, no less than the girl on the beach, seemed to be deaf and dumb. Not a word was said by any of them, but their faces twitched in response to their varying emotions, and they used their hands in ceaseless gestures.

Carl was right in thinking that the men in the boat had the appearance of pirates; and the scene was "funny," inasmuch as it showed the sea rovers of a past age against a twentieth century background.

"Py shinks," muttered Carl, his temper slowly rising, "I don'd like dot! Der poor girl iss at der mercy oof dem birate fellers, und der bolice, und nopody else, seems villing to lendt her a handt. Vell, I dell you somet'ing, oof dose birate fellers in der poat douch a hair oof dot girl's headt, den dey vill hear from me! I vish Modor Matt und Tick vas here. Mit dem to helup, ve could clean out der whole gang. Anyhow, I do vat I can py meinseluf."

When the boat was in the surf, the two who were rowing dropped their oars and sprang overboard. Laying hold of the boat, they dragged it up on the strand. The man in the bow jumped out, and all three made a rush for the girl.

"Leaf dot laty alone!" bellowed Carl, starting for the girl about the same time the three men did. "You t'ink dis vas some tesert islants dot you can act like dot! Bolice! bolice!"

The sight of Carl, in his little red bathing suit, streaking along the sand, brought roars of laughter from those on the board walk. The merriment puzzled Carl; and angered him still further, too, to think that such a raft of people would give way to mirth when a young woman was in such terrible danger.

"Get away from there!" shouted a man near the photographic instrument.

"Meppy you see me gedding avay," roared Carl as he ran, "aber I don'd t'ink. You vas a goward, und eferypody else vas a goward! I safe der girl meinseluf!"

"You'll spoil the picture!" howled one of the pirates; "get out of the picture!"

"I vill shpoil your face!" retorted Carl, failing to comprehend. "Ged oudt oof der picture yourseluf! Der laty iss nod to be hurted."

Carl reached the lady first. She seemed astounded and angry.

"Nefer fear, leedle vone," carolled the Dutch boy, planting himself between the girl and her supposed enemies, "dose vicked mens vill haf to valk ofer me pefore dey ged ad you! Yah, so helup me! Run for der poard valk vile I mix it mit dem und gif you der shance."

"Go 'way!" screamed the girl; "mind your own business, if you've got any!"

"Oh, you Dutch idiot!" raved one of the buccaneers, striking at Carl with a cutlass. "You've spoiled our work!"

The other two pirates were jumping up and down and saying things about Carl that were far from complimentary.

The Dutch boy tried to dodge the cutlass, but failed. It struck him squarely across the throat, and, had it been a thing of steel, would have separated his head from the rest of his body. But the cutlass was made of lath, covered with tinfoil, and broke as it fell.

"He's ruined the films!" howled the man at the photograph instrument.

"Sic him, Tige!" cried another, who was standing beside him.

A brindle bulldog, which Carl had not seen until that moment, gave a yip and started for the scene of the trouble.

"Vat's der madder, anyvays?" demanded Carl, convinced by the young lady's manner that she did not want to be rescued.

"Moving pictures, you Dutch idiot!" yelped the leader of the pirates. "If you'd had any sense you'd have known that without being told. Now we've got to do it all over again! Take him, Tige!"

The bulldog was hurling himself across the sand like a thunderbolt, and he was making straight for Carl. Neither the girl nor the pirates showed any inclination to stop the dog; on the contrary, they appeared to derive considerable satisfaction from the prospect of his getting close enough to use his teeth on the Dutch boy.

Carl was perfectly willing to face any number of pirates in order to rescue a beautiful maiden in distress, but he drew the line at coming company front with a vicious bulldog. When a person wears nothing but a bathing suit his means of offense and defense are naturally limited.

Since Carl could not help the girl, he made up his mind to do what he could to help himself. Whirling about, he laid himself out in the direction of the steel pier, the bulldog in hot pursuit and gaining on him at every jump.

Everybody, except the moving-picture people, was laughing. And excepting Carl. There was nothing especially amusing in the situation for him.

The Italian with the pushcart was haw-hawing and holding his sides. A boy, using his legs to get away from a dog, was something he could understand, and it pleased him.

Carl did not have time to go around the cart, so he ducked under it. The dog ducked after him. Carl had seen how the Italian was enjoying himself, and he resented it. By rising up under the cart Carl could overturn it, thus dropping a lot of buns and "red-hots" on the dog and possibly stopping the pursuit. Carl did not stop to debate the matter—he hadn't time—but rose up, thus sending the cart over upon the