Matt would have given a good deal to know just how much Harris was thinking of his safety, and just how much he was considering the help the authorities would receive by having the Hawk removed from that part of the country. He put the question point-blank, and the officer averred that he was thinking entirely of the recapture of Brady.
"Is the Hawk in shape for a get-away?" he asked.
"She's been ready for a week," replied the young motorist. "There's enough gasoline in the tank to carry her at least three hundred miles, and we have a reserve supply stowed in the car that will carry her that much farther. The bag is full of gas, and Mr. Jerrold has equipped us with a balloonet, or inner bag, that will keep the buoyancy the same in any temperature. The balloonet is filled with something of his own invention—a vapor of some sort that contracts as the gas in the outer bag expands, and that expands as the gas contracts. Not only that, but Mr. Jerrold gave the bag a coat of some sort of varnish which makes it almost proof against leakage, and we figure that we could travel some thousands of miles before it would be necessary to visit a gas plant."
"Jerrold is a mighty good friend of yours, Matt," observed Harris. "It's not everybody he'd give the benefit of his own inventions."
"He's one of the greatest men of the age," declared the young motorist, with enthusiasm, "and he's doing more to put aëronautics on a commercial and practical basis than any other inventor in the country."
For an hour or two Harris and Matt talked on technical points connected with air ships, and the two finally went into the balloon house so that Matt could point out the improvements which his friend, Jerrold, had helped make in the Hawk.
Most of all this was worse than Greek to Ferral, and he yawned as he listened, and remained behind when his chum and the officer went inside the huge shed. Leaning against the board wall behind him, Ferral dozed, and it was only when a shout reached him from the road that he realized that Carl was coming.
When Ferral turned his gaze in the direction from which the shout had come, Carl was just clambering over the fence.
"Ahoy, Matt!" yelled Ferral, starting to his feet, and wide awake on the instant. "Here's our Dutch raggie! It's hard on the stroke of eight bells and he's made the round trip just as I thought he would."
In response to the hail, Matt and Harris came hurrying out of the shed. By that time Carl was half way between the road and the balloon house.