Jameson was undoubtedly a man of wealth, and able to go any length in gratifying his hobby for air ships. Matt, of course, did not know what Ferral and Carl had at the back of their heads, for no mention had yet been made of Ferral's desire to joint Matt in the purchase of the air ship.
The return to South Chicago was quickly made, the wind being behind the Hawk and helping her onward. The aëronauts descended at Brady's old balloon house, in a swamp field in the outskirts of South Chicago. Two police officers were constantly on guard at the balloon house to keep anyone from tampering with the air ship.
After the craft had been safely stowed in its quarters, Matt, Carl, Ferral, Harris, and Jameson set off toward town.
Carl and Ferral were in a sorry plight and in urgent need of dry clothes and hats and shoes, but they were not thinking of their own comfort. The danger of losing the air ship was causing them a vast amount of worry.
"I'll take you fellows to a clothing store," said Matt, as they came into the town, "and fix you out so you'll look respectable. Everybody is looking at you as though you were a couple of freaks."
"Belay that—for awhile," returned Ferral. "Take us to a hotel, or anywhere else where we can have a talk."
"You can talk better if you're in dry clothes," said Matt.
"Don'd you t'ink dot for a minid," palpitated Carl, with an apprehensive look at Jameson.
The signs were plain enough to Matt that Ferral and Carl had something they wanted to tell him. At the place where they left Harris to pursue his way to police headquarters, Jameson likewise broke away.
"You'll hear from me sometime this afternoon, Harris," said Jameson, "and when I come around I'll bring a certified check for three thousand with me."