"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.
Merrick, Ferral and Carl got aboard the _Christina_, the Swede cast off the bow moorings, the skipper hauled up the mainsail and jib, and then the Swede threw on the stern rope and jumped aboard. There was a fine breeze, and the little boat tripped out through the harbor in the direction of the government pier.
Ferral and Carl went forward and seated themselves on the top of the cabin. Merrick lingered in the cockpit to talk with Erickson, who had the wheel. The Swede was farther forward, setting another of the jibs.
"How long you knowed dot Merrick feller, Tick?" queried Carl.
"His looks don'd make some hits mit me; und I don'd like der Norvegian or der Svede, neider."
"Why, Carl," said he, "you can't smoke a fellow's roll on such a short acquaintance."
"I ged some hunches ven I see vat I don'd like, und I got all kindts oof hunches, righdt now, dot somet'ing is crooked. Meppy dot Merrick feller shmokes your roll--der vone vat you got in your bocket."