"Ahoy, old raggie!" whooped Ferral, whose enthusiasm seemed to have grown during the night. "Our ship's pulling at her cables, just as though she's as anxious to get away as we are. Where's Carl?"
"I sent him to the police department after those papers the chief was to get for us," replied Matt. "Here's some breakfast for you, Dick. Better get on the outside of it as soon as you can. By the way, haven't you some luggage in Chicago you'll want to get?"
"I sent all my luggage through to Quebec. When I travel, Matt, I always travel light. Mighty nice of you to remember my 'scran,'" Ferral added, as he took the box Matt handed him.
While he was eating, the two officers came around the end of the building.
"Our orders was to pull out as soon as you got here, King," said one of them. "You're goin' to leave purty soon, anyhow, ain't you?"
"Just as soon as we can get the Hawk out of the shed. Our Dutch pard will be here by that time."
"I'd like to stay and see you off, but the old woman'll have my breakfast ready, an' there's always a row if I don't get there while it's hot. Good-by, an' good luck to you."
"The same to you, officer."
The policeman started off toward the road, and Matt went around to the front of the balloon house to open the doors. The doors comprised almost the whole end of the building, and when they were open, the interior of the shed was well lighted by the sun.
The Hawk seemed fit and ready for any work she might be called upon to do. As Matt looked at the great swaying bag, the light car and its trim machinery, he experienced a pride in the air ship he had never before known. This was because the Hawk belonged partly to him, now.