"An academy, for instance," said Matt with a far-away look in his gray eyes, "and a spell of grubbing at the stores of knowledge preparatory to a college course."
"Helup!" gasped Carl; "bolice! Matt is t'inking oof cutting himseluf oudt oof our herd, Tick, und going to school. Shpeaking for meinseluf, ven I go to school I don'd go, for I play vat you call hookey undt look for atvendures. All has got to go mit shnap und chincher for me, und vere iss lifeliness in pooks? Ach, donnervetter!"
"Avast, there, matey!" said Dick. "Matt is right. Adventures are all well enough in their place, but a cruise in the waters of learning is a main fine thing—for those who can afford it. Some day Matt will be in an academy, and some other day he will be in Harvard or Yale, and the King of the Motor Boys will be done with the buzz-engines for always."
Matt pulled himself together and laughed softly.
"Never, as long as I live," he declared, "will I be done with gasolene motors. Don't fool yourself on that for a minute. I may——"
"A message for you, Motor Matt. Just came off the wires."
A messenger boy pushed in among the three chums and handed a yellow envelope to Matt. All the messenger boys, together with nearly every one else in New Orleans, knew Motor Matt at least by sight. His work with the air ship, Hawk, which had recently been wrecked and destroyed, had kept him and his friends prominently in the public eye for some time.
"Sign the book, Dick," said Matt, tearing open the envelope.
"Vat you t'ink oof dot?" breathed Carl in a spasm of joyful excitement as the messenger boy went away. "Ve talk oof vanting t'ings to habben, und righdt off dey pegin. Ach, vat a luck! How easy id iss to be jeerful—somedimes!"
"Mayhap that message isn't anything to be cheerful about, Carl," said Dick. "I'll bet some one is asking to buy the Hawk, and her poor old bones are rusting in a live oak, down by Bayou Yamousa."