"A jolly fine lot they are!" cried the sailor contemptuously. "You saved my roll for me, Carl. Haven't had time to shake your hand before, but I can do it now to the king's taste. Your flipper, mate!"
Carl gripped the sailor's hand.
"Vat a surbrise it iss!" he exclaimed. "I don'd haf time to say mooch aboudt dot, eider, aber ven I heardt you singing mit yourself, und looked oudt oof der vinder und saw dot you vas Tick Verral, I ketched my breat' a gouple oof times. Vere you come from, Tick?"
"From Denver, messmate," answered Dick Ferral. "My uncle supplies me with plenty of money, but just the same I'd hate to lose that roll. He made me a present of it when I started for Quebec. But where's my old raggie, Motor Matt? I stopped off here in Chicago just to see him. Got his address from the Lestrange automobile people, and I'm fair hungry to grip his fin, once more. I'll never forget what Matt King did for me—and my uncle won't, either."
"He don'd vas in Chicago schust now, Tick," said Carl. "He vill be pack in two or dree tays, meppy. Anyhow, oof he don'd come pack py do-morrow, meppy ve go oudt vere he iss, und see him? Vat you t'ink oof dot?"
Dick Ferral's disappointment was keen, and he showed it plainly.
"How far is he from here, Carl?" he asked.
"Only a leedle vays. It iss in a blace vat dey call Sout' Chicago."
"What's Matt doing out there?"
"Vell, ve hat some ructions oudt dere—a mighdy high olt time, you bed you. Look at here vonce. Ven you read somet'ing, den you vill know more."