The Motor Boat Club at the Golden Gate: or, A Thrilling Capture in the Great Fog

"I wouldn't have minded seeing that one through," returned Joe.

Neither boy, at that moment, suspected that they would yet "see it through."

CHAPTER II

HAZING, M. B. C. K. STYLE

At the ferry slip on the San Francisco side the two motor boat boys saw the young woman again.

A big, broad-shouldered, well-dressed, wholesome looking young man of twenty-two or twenty-three years of age, came forward eagerly, hat in hand, to meet her.

"She's all right, now," declared Joe, with satisfaction. "Gracious! That husky young fellow could eat up two or three muckers like the one you punched, Tom."

"Yes; our young lady of the journey is surely all right," nodded Halstead, delighted with what he had seen. "So come along, Joe. We'll probably never see any of that party again."

Through a throng of eager cabmen the two young motor boat boys plodded sturdily. Neither had ever been in San Francisco before, but they knew that the ferry came in at the foot of Market Street, and that the Palace Hotel was but a few blocks from the water-front on the same great artery of traffic.

"Might as well walk up, and get a little bit of a look at the town," proposed Halstead.

"Which side of the street is the Palace on?" queried Joe.

"East."

"Then we'll cross over. I don't believe we can miss it."

It was a bustling crowd through which the boys steered their way. The man on the San Francisco sidewalk who is under eighty years of age is engaged in making his fortune, and has no time to lose. After he has made it, he buys an automobile, and has comparatively little need of a sidewalk.

Men from every country in Europe and the Orient passed them. There was, of course, a large sprinkling of native Americans, yet even the chance passer knew that he was moving through a throng recruited from the four quarters of the world.

To Tom the walk ended all too soon. However, they were bent on business, not pleasure, so they turned in briskly through the main entrance of the Palace Hotel as soon as a policeman had pointed it out to them.

Captain Tom Halstead stepped to the desk, picking up a pen to register. "Are Davis, Perkins, Prentiss and Randolph here ahead of us?" queried Halstead, as soon as he had written his name and his chum's.

"All of 'em," smiled the clerk, after glancing at the entry on the hotel register. "Davis, who got here first, with Perkins, engaged rooms close together for the whole party. Front! I'll have you shown right up, Captain Halstead."

The colored boy in blue uniform and brass buttons confiscated the bags and overcoats of the two young travelers, leading the way to the elevator. That bell-boy turned his head to conceal a grin that illumined his face.

"So our friends are all here ahead of us, and have everything ready?" remarked young Dawson.

The bell-boy, his head still turned away, seemed to be choking.

"I wonder if they've seen Mr. Baldwin, or heard from him?" mused Tom, aloud.

"Right dis way, sah," begged the bell-boy, stepping out of the elevator ahead of them at the third floor.

He led them down a long corridor, turned into another corridor, then halted before a door. That bell-boy gave three distinct knocks; a pause, then two more knocks.

"I reckon yo' can go right in, sah," announced the bell-boy, dropping some of his burden in order to throw the door open.

Utterly unsuspicious, Tom and Joe passed through the doorway. The instant they had done so, the bell-boy tossed their bags and coats in after them, yanked the door shut and fled, chuckling.

"Here they come! Welcome!" roared Dick Davis's deep, hearty voice.

A short hallway led from the door to the room proper. As Tom Halstead passed over the inner threshold a pair of arms reached out from either side, yanking him into the room out of Joe's sight. Dawson leaped after his chum, only to be similarly seized.

Then it snowed! At least, for a brief instant, that was what the victims thought.

Tom was neatly, ruthlessly tripped, being sent sprawling to the floor, while Ab Perkins, snatching up a bolster, which he had ripped open, shook all the fine, downy feathers over him. They sifted down the young captain's neck; they obscured his vision; some of the small feathers fell into his mouth. He fell to spitting them out with vigor, even before he tried to get up.

Nor did Joe Dawson fare any better. If anything, he was rather more roughly handled by Jed Prentiss and Jeff Randolph.

"Now, roll 'em!" roared Dick Davis.

Before either of the newcomers could rise to his feet they were rolled together in the middle of the floor. Ab lifted the mattress from the bed, plumping it down over the two victims. Then all four of the gleeful assailants threw themselves across the mattress, shoving it over the floor, using Tom and Joe, underneath, for rollers.

And, over it all, rose the famous club yell:

"M. B. C. K.! M. B. C. K.! Motor Boat Club! Wow!"

"Oh, but we're glad to see 'em!" yelled Dick Davis, in his deepest tones. "Good old chums! Keep up the welcome, fellows!"

From under the mattress Tom Halstead managed to make himself heard, though his voice sounded muffled indeed.

"Help!" he roared. "Turn out the port watch! Mutiny!"

"Port watch, ahoy! Roll up on deck, you lubbers!" roared Ab Perkins. "Cap'n wants you!"

At that Jed and Jeff left the mattress, darting to where Tom's and Joe's traveling bags lay. These they quickly opened, dumping all the contents on the floor.

"All hands to quell mutiny!" yelled Jed Prentiss. Dick Davis and Ab Perkins joined them on the jump.

That gave Tom and Joe, both very red-faced and much winded, a chance to crawl out from under the mattress.

Yet no sooner did they show their astonished faces than all four of the first-comers began to pelt them with the articles dumped from the traveling bags.

Slippers flew straight and true, landing with swats. Hair brushes, tooth-brushes, cakes of soap, boxes of tooth-powder and numerous other articles filled the air, a veritable cyclone with the fleet captain and the fleet engineer in the middle of it.

"Cut it!" commanded Tom Halstead, sternly. "Oh, if I had my revolver and handcuffs and leg-irons here. This is the last time I'll ever go on deck without 'em. But cut it – anyway!"

Dick Davis, having thrown the last missile that came to hand, and having pitched Halstead's overcoat up in the air so that it now lay hanging from the chandelier, suddenly straightened up, looking very grave as he saluted and roared out:

"Aye, aye, sir!"

At that the other three disturbers of the peace lined up with Dick, all saluting.

"What's the meaning of all this riot?" insisted Halstead, trying to keep back the grin that struggled to his face.

"After not having seen each other for all these moons," demanded Davis, in a hurt voice, "can't we do anything to show you how ding-whanged glad we are to behold you two once more?"