Motor Matt's Promise: Or, the Wreck of the Hawk

It was about half-past four in the afternoon, and Carl Pretzel and Dick Ferral were on their way along the water front of New Orleans. They had gone into town on an important errand and were now returning to Stuyvesant Dock, where their air ship was moored and where they had expected to find Motor Matt. Just off the foot of Canal Street a steamer was loading for False River. Four-mule teams attached to heavy drays were backed up to the wharf and long lines of darkies were crossing the gang plank with bags on their shoulders and recrossing empty-handed for other burdens. It was an attractive scene for the two boys and they halted for a few moments to watch; then, suddenly, a big surprise was sprung on them. They saw Motor Matt, hands in his pockets, loafing along the levee-at least they thought it was Motor Matt, for the lad was of the same build, the same height and with a face exactly like the young motorist's. Carl and Dick knew Matt so well that they were positive they were not mistaken, but there was something about Matt they could not understand.