“Misder Swift—yes?” he said in a deep voice. “When I got telegram you come in t’ree days I say: ‘Das American come t’roo de air—yes?’ Undt, py jolly! so he came—yes. I sail to America once, twice. So I spe’k de English goot.”
“You surely do, Captain,” declared Tom delightedly, realizing that this man was too simple a soul to have entered into any plot against Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor. “But it looks as if we might have trouble if we stop here for long.”
“Vot trouble iss dot?” demanded Captain Karofsen.
Tom explained briefly about the claim made by the Red who still gabbled angrily to the military officer. He was threatening to call upon the Governor of Reykjavik to reiterate an order to seize the seaplane.
“And we must get some more gasoline before we try to find that iceberg,” concluded Tom.
“Yes—I see,” agreed Captain Karofsen. “You go find Misder Damon undt the sick man with this flying boat? I been trying to charter one sailing boat—yes.”
“What do you think? You’ll go with us, won’t you?”
“Jes. She peat all de sailing poats in de vorl’,” cried the captain emphatically. “I see her sail down out of the skies, so like von bird. Wonderful!”
“But the gasoline?”
“Gasoline we shall buy at a station on the north coast of Iceland. A Standard Oil tanker bane stop dere twice in de year now—yes. You pay me for my time, Misder Swift?”