Ferral was completely carried away with the idea of buying the air ship, and he could talk of nothing else while he and Carl were smoothing the kinks out of their personal appearance, and riding downtown on the car.
It was nearly one o'clock and they did not have any time to stop at a restaurant for dinner. But neither of the lads thought of anything to eat—and that was what Carl had a habit of thinking of at the right time, and between times, so it will be understood how the prospect of securing the air ship dazzled him.
A little sailing craft was bumping against the wharf at the lake end of the viaduct. Although a small boat, yet she had a cuddy forward, a cockpit aft, and was as spick and span as snow-white canvas, clean decks, and polished brasswork could make her.
A young fellow, rather loudly dressed, was leaning against one of the posts to which the sailboat was moored. He was smoking a cigarette, and, at sight of Ferral, ran up to him with outstretched hand.
"Ahoy, my gay sailorman!" he cried. "I had a kind of hunch that you'd go back on me, and wouldn't show up."
"Whenever I say I'll do a thing," replied Ferral, catching the other's hand heartily, "I lay my course in that direction. But I'm in a rush to get to South Chicago. Do you suppose you can take us somewhere near there?"
"Take you anywhere, old chap," returned the other.
Ferral presented Carl. The Dutch lad was not very much taken with Ferral's friend. There was something about him that rubbed Carl's fur the wrong way. However, Carl did not pay much attention to this vague distrust. He was thinking of the Hawk, and hoping that he and Ferral would reach South Chicago in time to buy the air ship before she was sold to anybody else.
Carl, more than anyone else, knew how Motor Matt was longing to own the Hawk, and how badly disappointed he was to think he had not the money to buy her. Dick Ferral had dropped into the affair at just the right time.
The name of the sailboat was the Christina, and her skipper was a heavy-jawed Norwegian by the name of Erickson. There was something about Captain Erickson that Carl did not like, and the Swede who helped the skipper sail the Christina did not appear to any better advantage. Yet the idea of buying the air ship had put Carl's nerves in a twitter, and he gave little heed to his vague suspicions.