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Title: The Submarine Boys on Duty
       Life of a Diving Torpedo Boat


Author: Victor G. Durham



Release Date: November 12, 2005  [eBook #17054]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)


***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUBMARINE BOYS ON DUTY***


E-text prepared by Jim Ludwig



Note: This is book one of eight of the Submarine Boys Series.




THE SUBMARINE BOYS ON-DUTY

Life on a Diving Torpedo Boat

by

VICTOR G. DURHAM

1909







CONTENTS

CHAPTERS
    I. Two Boys Who Planned to Become Great
   II. The Fighting Chance
  III. Josh Owen Starts Trouble
   IV. The Trick of the Flashlight
    V. One Man's Dumfounded Face
   VI. Along the Trail of Trouble
  VII. When Thieves Fall Out
 VIII. A Swift Stroke for Honor
   IX. The Submarine Makes Its Bow to Old Ocean
    X. Under Water, Where Men's Nerves are Tried
   XI. The Try-Out in the Depths
  XII. The Discovery From the Conning Tower
 XIII. A High-Sea Mystery
  XIV. An Up-To-Date Revenge
   XV. The Courage That Rang True
  XVI. The Last Second of the Nick of Time
 XVII. In the Grip of Horror
XVIII. The Last Gasp of Despair
  XIX. Jack Strikes the Key to the Mystery
   XX. "One On" the Watch Officer
  XXI. The Man Who Dropped the Glass
 XXII. A Dive That was Like Magic
XXIII. Wanted, Badly--One Steward!
 XXIV. Conclusion




CHAPTER I

TWO BOYS WHO PLANNED TO BECOME GREAT


"So this is Dunhaven?" inquired Jack Benson.

"Ye-es," slowly responded Jabez Holt, not rising from the chair in which
he sat tilted back against the outer wall on the hotel porch.

"It looks like it," muttered Hal Hastings, under his breath.

"Doesn't look like a very bustling place, does it?" asked Jack, with
a smile, as he set down a black, cloth-covered box on the porch and
leisurely helped himself to a chair.

The box looked as though it might contain a camera.  "Tin-type fellers,"
thought Holt to himself, and did not form a very high estimate of the
two boys, neither of whom was more than sixteen years of age.

Just now, both boys were dusty from long travel on foot, which condition,
at a merely first glance, concealed the fact that both were neatly
enough, even if plainly, dressed.

"Huh!" was all the response Jabez Holt made to Jack's pleasant comment.
Hal, however, not in the least discouraged by a reception that was not
wholly flattering, set down a box not unlike Jack's, and also something
hidden in a green cloth cover that suggested a camera tripod.  Hal
helped himself to one of the two remaining chairs on the porch
of the little hotel.

"Takin' pictures?" asked Jabez Holt, after a pause spent in chewing at
a tooth-pick.

"Yes, some of the time," Jack assented.  "It helps out a bit when two
fellows without rich fathers take a notion to travel."

"I s'pose so," grunted Jabez.  He was not usually considered, by his
fellow-townsmen, a disagreeable fellow, but a hotel keeper must always
preserve a proper balance of suspicion when dealing with strangers,
and especially strangers who follow callings that do not commonly lead
to prosperity.  Probably "Old Man" Holt, as he was known, remembered
a few experiences with the tribe of itinerant photographers.  At any
rate he did not mean to make the mistake of being too cordial with
these young representatives of the snap-shot art.

"Is there any business around here?" asked Jack, after awhile.

"Oh, there's a Main Street, back uptown, that has some real pretty
homes," admitted the hotel keeper, "an' some likely-lookin' cross
streets.  Dunhaven ain't an awful homely town, as ye'll see after
you've walked about a bit."

"But is there any business here?" insisted Hal Hastings, patiently.

"I guess maybe you're business photografters, then?" suggested the
hotel keeper.

"What kinds of business are there here?" asked Jack.

Jabez Holt cast away a much-mangled toothpick and placed another in his
mouth before he replied, with a chuckle:

"Well, I reckon about the only business here that the town is doing any
talkin' about at present is one that don't want no photografters
around."

"And what may that business be?" persisted Jack.

"Well, down to Farnum's boatyard they're putting up a craft that's
known as 'Pollard's Folly.'"

"And why wouldn't they want that photographed?" demanded young Benson.

"Because it's one of them sure-death boats they hope to sell the
Government, and the United States Government don't care 'bout havin'
its war craft secrets snap-shotted," replied Jabez Holt.

"Didn't you speak of Pollard's boat?" demanded Jack, his eyes agleam
with sudden interest.

"Ye-es," admitted Mr. Holt, slowly.  "A boat that'll drown its score
of men, I reckon, an' then lay somewhere an' eat itself out with rust."

"A submarine boat, isn't it?" continued Jack, quickly.

"Yep; submarine torpedo boat: One of them crazy craft that men _will_
build against all sense of what's decent on salt water."

"Why, I've read about _that_ boat;" Jack ran on, eagerly.  "And, from
what the newspapers said, I've gathered the idea that David Pollard's
boat is going to put the United States completely ahead of all other
nations at sea."

"That's the way Dave Pollard talks," returned Mr. Holt, grimly.  "But
folks 'round Dunhaven, I must say, don't think over an' above of him
or his boat.  They--"

"Oh, bother the folks around Dunhaven!" broke in Jack Benson,
impatiently.  "If the place is the best they know how to do in the way
of a town, I don't care a heap about their ideas of boats.  And--but I
beg your pardon, Mr. Holt.  My tongue's running a bit ahead of my
manners, I guess.  So this is where that famous submarine torpedo boat
is being built?  And she's a diving boat, at that?"

"Well, I guess mebbe she'll dive, all right," chuckled Jabez Holt.  "But
as to her comin' up again, I reckon the 'Pollard' ain't goin' to be so
certain."

"Where are they building her? Farnum's shipyard, you said?"

"Right over yonder," explained Mr. Holt, pointing to a high board fence
that enclosed a space down by the water front.  Farnum's "boatyard,"
as thus seen, was about an eighth of a mile from the little hotel, and
looked as though it might be considerable of a plant.

"Who's in charge of the boat?" was Jack's next question.

"Well, now, that's a conundrum," replied Jabez Holt, pondering.  "Jake
Farnum owns the yard.  Jake is a young man, only a few years out of
college.  He inherited the business from his father, who's dead.  Jake
is considered a pretty good business man, though he don't know much
'bout boats, an' can't seem to learn a heap, nuther.  So Jake leans on
Asa Partridge, the superintendent, who was also superintendent under
old man Farnum.  However, old man Farnum's line was building sailing
yachts, small schooners, and, once in a while, a tug-boat.  That's in
Asa Partridge's line, but he won't have nothin' much to do with new
schemes like diving torpedo boats."

"Then--" hinted Jack.

"I'm a-comin' on with the yarn," replied Jabez Kolt, patiently.  "Now,
Dave Pollard, the inventor of the boat, is a powerful bright young man,
on theory, some folks says, but he ain't much use with tools in his
hands.  But he an' young Jake Farnum hang 'round, watching and bossing,
and they have a foreman of the gang, Joshua Owen, who knows he knows
most everything 'bout buildin' any kind of boat.  So, barrin' the
fussing of Farnum and Pollard, I guess Josh Owen is the real boss of
the job, since the riveters' gang came an' put the hull together, an'
went away."

"Then I suppose Mr. Owen--" began Jack.

"Ja-a-abez!  Jabez Holt!  Come here!" rang a shrill, feminine voice from
the interior of the hotel.

"Must be goin', for a few minutes, anyway," grunted Jabez, rising and
leaving the two boys.  But no sooner was he out of sight than Jack
Benson turned upon his chum, his eyes ablaze.

"Hal Hastings," he effused, in a low voice, "I had forgotten that
Dunhaven was the home of the Pollard boat.  But, since it is, and since
we're here--why, here we'd better stay."

"Do you think we can get in on that job?" asked Hal, dubiously.

"Not if we just sit around and wonder, or if we go meekly and ask for
a job, and turn sadly away when we're refused," retorted Jack Benson,
with a vim that was characteristic of him.  "Hal, my boy, we're simply
going to shove ourselves into jobs in that boatyard, and we're going
to have a whack at the whole game of building and fitting out a
submarine torpedo boat.  Do you catch the idea?  We're just going to
hustle ourselves into the one job that would suit us better than
anything else on earth!"

"Bully!" agreed Hal, wistfully.  "I hope you can work it."

"_We_ can," returned his chum, spiritedly.  "Team work, you know.
We've worked around machine shops, and at other trades, and we know
something about the way boats are handled.  Why shouldn't we be able
to make Farnum and Pollard believe we know something that will be of
use to them?"

"I guess the foreman is the one we want to see, first of all," suggested
Hal.

"Well, we'll camp right down here and go at the thing," almost whispered
Benson.  "And, as this hotel is right at the water front, and within
two jumps of the boatyard, I guess we'd better stay here until we
get settled."

While the two chums were discussing the whole matter in eager, low
tones, a few things may be told about them that will make their present
situation clearer.  Jack Benson, an only son, had been orphaned, three
years before, at the age of thirteen.  With the vigor that he always
displayed, he had found a home and paid for his keep and schooling,
either by doing chores, or by working at various occupations in his
native seaport town of Oakport.  He had kept at school up to a few
months before the opening of this narrative.  With marked genius for
machinery, he had learned many things about the machinist's trade
in odd hours in one of the local shops.  He was remarkably quick at
picking up new ideas, and had shown splendid, though untrained, talent
for making mechanical drawings.

Hal Hastings, of the same age, had a stepmother who did not regard him
kindly.  Hal, too, had worked at odd jobs, almost fighting for his
schooling.  His father, under the stepmother's influence, paid little
heed to his doings.

For two summers both boys had done fairly well working on yachts and
other boats around Oakport.  Both had learned how to handle sail craft,
to run motors and small marine steam engines.

During the spring just passed Hal Hastings had worked much of his
time for an Oakport photographer who, at the beginning of summer, had
failed.  Hal, with a considerable bill for unpaid services, had taken
some photographing material in settlement of his dues.

At the beginning of summer both boys decided that Oakport did not offer
sufficient opportunity for their ambitious hopes in life.  So they had
determined to take Hal's newly acquired camera outfit and "tramp it"
from town to town, earning their living by photographing and all the
while keeping their eyes open for real chances in life.  Both had some
money, carefully saved and hidden, from the previous summer's work, so
that in point of attire they presented a creditable appearance.

During these few weeks of tramping from place to place they had made
somewhat more money than their expenses had amounted to.  Jack Benson,
who was the treasurer, carried their entire hoard in a roll of one and
two-dollar bills.

"I tell you, Hal Hastings," Jack now wound up, "this submarine torpedo
boat business is already a great field.  It's going to be bigger and
bigger, for a lot of inventors are at work.  If we can hustle our way
into this Dunhaven boatyard, we may be able to--"

"Earn a very good living, I guess," nodded Hal, thoughtfully.

"Earn a living?" sniffed Jack, rather scornfully.  "Hal, I've got faith
enough in both of us to believe that we could make our fortunes in a
few years.  Look at some of the poor young men who had sense enough to
get into the automobile business early.   The prizes go to the fellows
who get into a field early and have ability enough to build up
reputations."

Jabez Holt came out upon the porch at this moment.

"Still here?" he asked, looking at the boys.

"We're going to be here a little while, I guess, if it's agreeable to
you, Mr. Holt," Jack answered; with a smile.

"What d'ye mean?  I don't want no tin-types taken."

"We haven't asked you to have any photos made, Mr. Holt," Benson ran
on.  "We're just talking about becoming guests here."

"For twenty-four hours," supplied Hal Hastings.

"For at least two days," Jack amended.

"But, see here," explained Landlord Holt.  "Rates here are two dollars
a day.  If ye hain't got no other baggage I'll have ter look into
them camera boxes before I take 'em as security for board."

"You can't have them as security, Mr. Holt," Jack laughed.  "I'm going
to pay our charges two days in advance.  For two persons it's eight
dollars, isn't it?"

Then young Benson carelessly produced the young partners' roll of
banknotes.  He quickly counted off eight dollars, handing the money
to Mr. Holt.

"Come right in an' register," said Landlord Holt, springing up and
leading the way.  The hotel sometimes prospered when yacht owners
or boat designers came this way, but at any season eight dollars were
eight dollars.  The boys were now in high standing with their host.
When matters had been settled in the office Holt led them to the wash
room.  Here the young men dusted themselves off, washed, polished
their own shoes, donned clean collars and cuffs, and, altogether,
speedily made themselves so tidy that they looked quite different
from the dusty travelers who had trudged into Dunhaven.

Jabez Holt then conducted them back to chairs on the porch, remarking:

"It's after four o'clock now, and supper'll be ready sharp at six."

"What time do they knock off work in the boatyard?" queried Jack.

"Five, sharp," the landlord informed him.

"Does that foreman on the submarine boat job ever come along this way?"

"Goes right by here on his way home," Mr. Holt informed the boys.

"I'd be glad if you'd introduce us to him," Jack suggested.

"I sartain will," nodded Jabez Holt.  "An', ye know, Dave Pollard is
stoppin' at this hotel."

"Oh, he is, eh?" Jack snapped up, eagerly.  "Then we'll certainly try
to make his acquaintance to-night."

Hal, too, looked pleased at this prospect.  Mrs. Holt again calling,
from the depths of the kitchen, the landlord was forced to hurry off.
He left behind two boys who suddenly fell to planning their futures
with all the rosy enthusiasm of youth.  The longer they talked about
the submarine boat, the more both Jack and Hal felt convinced that they
were going to succeed in getting into the work.  In fact, both planned
to become great in that special field.

It was a bright July day, one of the kind when the world looks at its
best to young, hopeful minds.  Absorbed in their vague but rosy plans,
both boys forgot the flight of time.

They were roused out of their talk, at last, by hearing heavy footsteps
on the gravel close at hand.  Looking up, they saw a heavy, broad
shouldered, dark-complexioned youth of about eighteen years.  He had a
swaggering way of carrying himself, and undoubtedly considered himself
of much importance.  His clothing proclaimed him to be a workman.  As
he caught sight of the two happy looking boys this older and larger
youth looked them over with a sneering expression which soon turned to
a scowl.

"Strangers here, ain't ye?" demanded the scowling one, as he halted on
the edge of the porch.

"Yes," nodded Jack Benson, pleasantly.

"Thought so," vouchsafed the other.  "Any body but a stranger hereabouts
would know ye were in my chair--the one I sit in when I come along
this way."

There was something decidedly insolent both the tone and manner of the
stranger.  But Benson, not quick at taking offense, inquired:

"Are you a guest of this hotel."

"None of your business," came the rough retort.

"Oh!" said Jack.

"Did ye hear me say ye were sitting in my chair?"

"Yes."

"Going to get up out of it?"

"Not until I know your rights in the matter," replied Jack.  "You see,
my board is paid in advance at this place."

"Huh!" growled the other, sneeringly.  "Reckon ye don't know much 'bout
Dan Jaggers's way of doin' things."

"Who on earth is Dan Jaggers?" demanded Benson, curiously.

"That's me!  It's my name," rejoined the swagger.  "An', sense ye're
so fresh--"

Jaggers didn't finish in words, but, taking a firm hold on the back of
the chair, he suddenly pulled it out from under Benson.  So swiftly was
the thing done that Jack went down on all fours on the porch.  But,
thoroughly aroused, and his eyes flashing indignantly now, that boy was
quickly on his feet.  Dan, however, with a satisfied grin, had dropped
into the chair.

"Going to get up out of that, Jaggers?" challenged Jack Benson.

"Not as I know of," rejoined Dan, with a broader grin.  "Why?"

"Because I'd hate to hit you while you're sitting down," replied Jack
so quietly that his voice sounded almost mild.

"What's that?" demanded Jaggers, with a guffaw of laughter.

"You heard what I said," Jack insisted.  "You'd better get up."

"Spoiling for a fight, are ye?" questioned the bully.

"Not at all," Jack replied, still keeping his temper in check.  "I never
go about looking for trouble.  I suppose you didn't know any better than
to do what you did."

"What's that?" scowled Dan Jaggers.

"If you want to apologize, and get out of the chair, I'll let it go at
that," pursued Jack, coolly.

"Hey?" demanded Dan Jaggers, aghast.  "_Me_--apologize?"

He sprang up suddenly, resting a broad paw heavily on Jack's shoulder.
But Benson, without flinching, or drawing back, returned the ugly look
steadfastly.

"You're behaving like a pretty poor grade of tough," spoke Jack, in deep
disgust.

"I am, hey?" roared Dan.  He drew back, aiming a heavy fist for Benson's
chest.  It was a mistake, as he quickly realized, for Jack Benson, from
much practice in boxing, was as agile and slippery as a monkey and an
eel combined.  Jack dodged, then came up under with a cleanly aimed
though not hard blow on Jaggers's chin.

"I'll learn ye!" roared Dan, returning two ponderous blows in quick
succession.  To his intense astonishment Jack wasn't in the way of
either blow, but came in with a neck blow on Jaggers's left side that
sent the bully reeling to the gravel beyond the porch.

"Come right down here!" challenged the bully, hoarsely.  "We'll find out
about this."

Jack Benson hesitated.  He did not care about fighting.  Yet, seeing
that Jaggers meant to have a final encounter, Jack dropped nimbly
down to the gravel.

Dan Jaggers rushed at him, both fists up on guard, his whole attitude
more cautious since he had had a taste of the smaller youth's quality.
Jack was about two inches shorter and fully thirty pounds lighter, but
he made one think of a dancing master as he skipped away before the big
fellow's rushes.

"Stand still, won't ye, drat ye?" roared Dan, driving in another heavy
blow.

But Benson dodged, then came in under the bully's guard, landing a
stinging blow on the tip of his nose.  Under punishment Dan let out a
noise resembling the bellow of an angry bull.  Glowering, he stood
uncertain, for a moment, but Jack was tantalizingly just out of his
reach, smiling confidently.  Then Jaggers leaped forward, hopeful of
winding his arms around this foe and crushing him into submission.
A second later, however, Dan fell backward, yelling with pain, for
Jack Benson had landed a left handed blow just under his opponent's
right eye, partly closing it.  Dan bent over double, still groaning.

"Well, I swan!" said the astonished Jabez Holt, in the doorway of his
hotel.

Jack stood his ground a few moments, watching until he felt sure that
his enemy did not intend to carry the affair further.  Then the younger
boy stepped lightly back to the porch, standing just before the chair
from which he had lately been evicted.

"Just bear in mind, I'll git square with ye for this!" uttered Jaggers,
wrathfully, glaring at young Benson with his undamaged eye.  Then he
turned and stalked away, muttering under his breath.

"Well, I swan!" remarked Jabez Holt again, now stepping out onto the
porch.  "I guess that sartain done Dan Jaggers some good.  He needs
some of that medicine, friends.  An' say, here's Josh Owen coming up
from Farnum's boatyard."

Jack and Hal both turned quickly to gaze down the road at a man just
coming out through the gate of Farnum's yard.

"He's the man we want to meet," cried Jack Benson, breathlessly.

"I dunno," replied Mr. Holt, shaking his head, ominously.  "I dunno
as it'll do ye much good, now.  Dan Jaggers is Josh Owen's nephew and
favorite!"




CHAPTER II

THE FIGHTING CHANCE


"My type of torpedo boat is going to rule the seas in naval warfare,"
declared David Pollard, his eyes a-kindle with the enthusiasm of the
sincere inventor.

"I'm sure of it," replied Jack Benson, quietly.  "That's why, Mr.
Pollard, Hal and I are so anxious to get into this work.  Mr. Pollard,
when your type of submarine diving torpedo boat is understood by the
United States Government you'll need some reliable and intelligent
experts.  Take us in now.  Let us learn the work with you.  Let us
go ahead, keeping pace with the progress in Pollard torpedo boats,
and you will never be sorry you have two young fellows you can depend
upon."

"That's so, if you can come near to making as good as you promise,"
admitted the inventor, thoughtfully.  "But you're pretty young."

"And that's the only fault with the Pollard submarine boat," rejoined
Jack Benson, artfully.  "You've got to buck your boat against all the
older types that the Government already takes an interest in.  Yet you
feel sure that you can do it.  You don't believe the Pollard diving
boat is too young.  Give us the same show you ask for your boat."

"Well, I've never seen any of your work--except these drawings,"
replied Mr. Pollard, indicating some sheets that lay on the table
before them.

The chums had succeeded in making the inventor's acquaintance through
the aid of the landlord.  It was now eleven o'clock at night.  Jack and
Hal had been in the inventor's room for the last three hours.  Benson
had done most of the talking, though Hal had now and then put in some
effective words.

David Pollard was now thirty years of age, tall, lean and of pallid
countenance.  He was a graduate of a technical school.  Though not a
practical mechanic, he had a rather good lot of theory stored away in
his mind.  He had inherited some money, soon after leaving school, but
this money had vanished in inventions that he had not succeeded in
marketing.  Now, all his hopes in life were centered in the submarine
torpedo boat that was nearly completed.  Pollard had had no money of
his own to put into the craft.  Jacob Farnum was his friend and
financial backer.

No one could grasp how much success with his submarine boat meant to
this wearied yet hopeful inventor.  For years all his schemes had been
laughed at by "practical" men.  It was success, more than mere fortune,
for which David Pollard hungered.  The officials of the Navy Department,
at Washington, had promised to inspect and try the boat, when finished,
but that was all the encouragement that had come from the national
capital.

If the "Pollard," as the new craft was at present named, should prove a
failure, then the inventor felt that he would be "down" indeed in the
world.  Also, he must feel that he had buried one hundred and fifty
thousand dollars of the money of his loyal friend, Farnum.

In his present anxious, worried frame of mind, with few real believers
in the possible success of his boat, it was little wonder that David
Pollard was grateful for any intelligent interest or faith in his plans.
These two friends were but boys, nor had they had any experience in
submarine boat construction.  Yet they had shown the inventor that they
knew much about machinery and marine engines in general, and Jack, with
his handy knack of sketching machinery, had made a decided hit with
poor Pollard.

"Just put us in as apprentices," begged Benson.  "We'll be just the
plainest sort of helpers, fetching and lifting, and that sort of thing,
until we learn how to do more."

"Well, you see, for one thing, boys," replied Pollard, "this building
of a submarine boat is very important and confidential work.  Now,
while I like the looks and talk of you both, I really don't know a thing
about either of you."

"Of course you don't," Jack Benson admitted, frankly.  "And it's highly
important that you should.  I know that.  But you can telegraph the
principal of the school we attended in Oakport, and you can telegraph
the minister of our church, too.  We'll abide by just what they say
about us.  And"-- here Benson brought his little roll of bills once
more into sight--"we'll pay for the telegrams and the answers."

"That looks right," nodded Mr. Pollard, with a slight smile.  "There
is just one more point.  The superintendent of the yard, Mr. Partridge,
isn't having anything to do with the building of the 'Pollard.' After
the steel workers and the riveters had finished on the hull, then
the inside work, including the fitting of the machinery, was turned
over to Mr. Owen, our present foreman.  Sometimes he's a crotchety
fellow, and he might take a dislike to you youngsters."

"I've got to tell you about something that I think _will_ make him
take a dislike to us," spoke up Jack Benson, candidly.  Then he recounted
the afternoon's affair with Dan Jaggers.

"Yes, that certainly will stir up some feeling," replied Mr. Pollard.
"In fact, it will make it very difficult for you to get along with
Owen, for he thinks a lot of that disagreeable, bullying nephew of his.
Yet, Benson, I like you a whole lot better for your honesty."

The inventor was silent for some moments, puffing slowly at a pipe, and
then he removed the stem from between his teeth and continued:

"You've made a good impression upon me, both of you, and particularly
with what you say about giving young fellows and young boats a chance
to prove themselves.  You talk like youngsters with some experience and
some ideas in the matter of machinery.  I admire your honesty.  I also
like what you say about the need Farnum and I will have, in the future,
of young men who will understand our boats thoroughly.  I don't know
what you can do until we try you out."

He took a few more thoughtful pulls at his pipe and resumed: "See here,
you come to the yard at eight o'clock in the morning, ready to do
anything that's wanted of you.  I won't wire, but I'll write, to-night,
to the references you've given.  If we find you're not of much use
we'll drop you.  If your references don't turn out to be unusually good,
out you go!  But, if you make good, you'll have your chance.  It's just
your fighting chance, you understand.  I'll fix the matter with Mr.
Farnum."

"And the foreman?" smiled Jack, wistfully.

Mr. Pollard looked grave as he answered:

"Look out not to invite any trouble with Joshua Owen, and avoid trouble
with Jaggers, who works in the boat-fitting crew.  I think we can get
over the effects of your little trouble this afternoon.  And now, boys,
give me the addresses of your references, and I'll write at once."

A few moments later the chums bade the inventor good night, then hurried
to their own room, though not to retire at once.

"Well!" demanded Jack Benson, his face radiant, as he thought of their
"fighting chance."

"It was the way you put the whole matter to Pollard," replied Hal
Hastings.  "Jack, you're a wonder with your tongue.  I believe you could
talk a hole through a thick board fence."

"We've got our chance, anyway.  And, oh, Hal!  I believe it's going to
be our real chance in life!"

"You'll soon be as wild about the 'Pollard' as the inventor himself,"
laughed Hastings, good-naturedly.

"It isn't going to be just the one boat, Hal," urged his chum, seriously.
"It's the whole big problem of submarine warfare.  It's going to be _the_
warfare of the future, old chum!  And, starting this early, we may
become Pollard's real experts--his leading men when he's famous,
successful and rich!  We may even become his partners, through getting
up improvements on his ideas.  Hal, boy, we may even put through our own
design of submarine boat one of these days."

"It'll be huge fun, anyway, if we can get a chance to cruise on a
submarine boat-under water and all!" glowed young Hastings.  "Say,
there must be a wonderful thrill to going down deep in the ocean."

Thus they talked for another hour.  It was very late when the two
turned in, nor did they go to sleep at once.  Yet, when the half-past
six call came in the morning, both boys turned out in a jiffy.  Excitement
took the place of rest with them.  They breakfasted with appetite.
Shortly after half-past seven, though the yard was so near, Jack and
Hal set out for their first day's work at boat building.

The gate was open, though the yard, as they stepped inside, had a
deserted look.  The partly finished hulls of two schooners lay on the
ways down by the water front.  There were half a dozen sloops in
various stages of completion.  There were two houses, close to the
water's edge in which, as the boys afterwards learned, motor boats
were built.  But it was a rough shed, more than twenty feet high, and
at least one hundred and twenty feet long, running down to the shore,
that instantly caught Jack Benson's glance.

"There's where they must be putting the 'Pollard' in shape," he cried,
eagerly, as he pointed.  Both youngsters hurried toward that shed.  As
they reached it the inventor came into sight around the end.  He was
hollow-eyed, though alert; he looked even more worried than he had looked
the night before.

"Ah, good morning, boys," was his greeting.  "Early on hand, I see."

"When a fellow's whole heart is set on a thing, he isn't likely to lie
abed until the last moment, is he, Mr. Pollard?" inquired Benson.

That speech impressed the inventor most favorably.  _He_ could appreciate
enthusiasm.

"Come inside, and I'll show you something," he said, producing a key and
leading the way to a door in the side of the shed.

Through the long, high windows of the shed an abundance of light fell.
But Jack, once inside the door, halted, looking with lips parted and
eyes wide open.

"O-o-o-oh!" he murmured.

"What is it?" inquired the inventor, curiously.

"The very, wonder of the thing," replied Benson, frankly, looking over
the whole length of the "Pollard" as she lay propped up on the sturdy
ways.

Nor did that simple speech make the inventor think any less of the
boy.  Though Hal Hastings remained silent for some time, his fascinated
gaze rested steadily on the strange-looking outlines of the cigar-shaped
bull of the boat.

The outer hull was of steel plates, carefully riveted into place.
The entire length of the boat was about one hundred and ten feet,
which in point of size placed her just about in the class of boats
of this type which are being constructed to-day.

Near the center of the boat, on the upper side, was the conning tower,
about nine feet in outside diameter, and extending some four feet
above the sloping deck of the craft.  Around the conning tower extended
a flat, circular "platform" deck.

At the bow of the boat the torpedo tube projected a short distance.  At
the stern the rudder was in place, and all was in readiness for placing
the propeller shaft and the propeller itself.  On the floor of the
shed, near the middle of this strange, dangerous boat, lay
miscellaneous small pieces of machinery and fittings.

At the starboard side of the boat stood a ladder that ascended to the
platform deck.  In the top of the conning tower a man-hole cover stood
propped up.  It was through this opening that the workmen entered or
left the boat.

From outside the shed several wires ran in.  In dark weather these
wires carried the current for electric lights in shed and boat.

"I won't ask you aboard until the foreman and other workmen arrive,"
explained Mr. Pollard.  "It'll be only a few minutes to wait."

While they were still examining the outer hull, and discussing the
submarine, Dan Jaggers, in his workman's clothes, reached the open
doorway of the shed.  One look inside, and he halted short.  He gathered
from the talk he heard that Jack Benson and Hal Hastings were to be
added to the "Pollard's" working gang.

"Not if I know myself--and the foreman--and I think I do!" growled
the Jaggers youth, backing away unseen.

The next of the workmen to arrive was Michael O'brien, red-haired and
about twenty-eight years of age.  He was good-humored and talkative, and
the two boys took an immediate liking to him.

Through the gate of the yard came Joshua Owen, a man of forty-five, of
medium height, broad-shouldered, black-haired and with a frame that
spoke of great physical power and endurance.  Yet he had restless,
rather evil-looking eyes.  He did not look like the sort of man whom
a timid fellow would want for an enemy.

"Hold on there, Unc," greeted Dan Jaggers, motioning his foreman-uncle
aside.  "Say, you know that cheeky young fellow I told ye about--the
tricky one that played the sneak on me, and gave me this black eye?"

"Haven't you met him and paid him back yet?" demanded Mr. Owen.

"Hadn't seen him again, until just now," complained Dan.  "What do you
think?  Pollard has engaged that feller and his friend to work on the
submarine."

"Has, eh?  Without speaking to me about it?" demanded Joshua Owen,
looking anything but pleased.

"Of course you'll let Pollard know that you're foreman and take on
and lay off your own gang," hinted Jaggers.

"Now, you leave me alone, Dan, boy, to know what to do," retorted Mr.
Owen.  Then he stepped on toward the long shed, a very grim look on
his face.  Going inside the shed, the foreman looked the two boys
over briefly.

"If you young men haven't any business in here," he ordered, "get
out and on your way.  Work is about to begin here.  I'm the foreman."

"Oh, Mr. Owen," hailed the inventor, "these are two very bright young
chaps, with some experience, that I've engaged to help us out with
installing the machinery in the boat."

"Couldn't you have consulted me, sir?" asked the foreman, again looking
keenly at the youngsters.

"When you've found out what they can do, Mr. Owen," replied Pollard.
"I believe you'll be rather pleased with them.  They're hired only
on trial, you understand."

"I can tell whether we want 'em before we start work," grunted the
foreman.  With that he began to fire all manner of machine-shop questions
at both boys.  Yet Jack and Hal, paying respectful heed, answered in
a way that showed them to be quite well informed about this class
of work.

"They won't do Mr. Pollard--won't do at all," announced Foreman Owen,
turning to the inventor.  "I know their kind.  They're glib talkers,
and all that, but they belong to the know-it-all class of boys.  I've
had a lot of experience with that kind of 'prentices, and I don't want
'em bothering our work here.  So I say, sir, the only thing for you to
do is to send them about their business."

Foreman Owen spoke as though that settled the matter.  Jack Benson
and Hal Hastings felt their hopes oozing.

"I've told the boys they shall have a chance Mr. Owen," replied Pollard
quietly, yet in a tone of authority.  "So of course my word must be kept
with them."

"But I'm the foreman," exclaimed Joshua Owen, irritably, "and I'm
supposed to--"

"Exactly," interposed David Pollard.  "You're supposed to obey all
instructions from your superiors here, and to give your advice when it's
wanted.  I have much at stake in the success of this boat, and when I
find what looks like good material for our working crew I'm going to try
out that material."

"But I don't want to be bothered with boys, like these young fellows,"
retorted the foreman, angrily.  "This is no job for amateurs!"

"The boys remain until they've been well tried out," retorted Pollard,
firmly.  "If they can't do our kind of work, then of course we'll
let them go."

"I'll speak to Mr. Farnum about this business," muttered Foreman Owen,
turning on his heel.  Three other workmen had arrived during this talk.
Now, at the order from Owen all climbed the ladder to the platform deck,
thence disappearing through the manhole.  Electric light was turned on
inside the hull by the time that Jack and Hal appeared at the manhole
opening.

Owen looked upward, from the floor of the boat, to scowl at them, but,
as Mr. Pollard was right behind them, the foreman said nothing at that
moment.

Last of all came Dan Jaggers.  As he caught sight of the two newcomers
he shot at them a look full of hate.

"I thought ye said those fellers couldn't work here," he muttered
to his uncle.

"Keep quiet and watch out," whispered Joshua Owen.  "They're not going
to work here.  I'll fix that!"




CHAPTER III

JOSH OWEN STARTS TROUBLE


"Knock off!"

As the deafening din of hammers lessened David Pollard shouted that
order through a megaphone.

Confined in a limited space, inside that bull of steel, the clatter,
which outdoors would have been barely noticed, was something infernal
in volume and sharpness.  Human ear-drums could not stand it for any
very great length of time.

By this time Jack Benson and Hal Hastings had had a good chance to
see exactly what the interior of a submarine torpedo boat was like.

A level floor extended throughout the entire length of the "Pollard."
Below this floor, reached by hatchways, were various small compartments
for storage.  Under the level of this floor, too, were the "water tanks."
These were tanks that, when the craft lay or moved on the surface of the
ocean, were to contain only air.  Whenever it was desired to sink the
torpedo boat, valves operated from the central room of the boat could be
opened so that the water tanks would fill, and the weight of the water
would sink the boat.  In diving, the forward tanks could be filled
first, and then, when the desired depth was reached, the other tanks
could be filled entirely, or partly, in such a way as to control depth
and position.

With the boat below the surface, and the commander wishing to return to
the surface, compressed air could be forced into the water tanks,
expelling all the water in them, or a part of the water, if preferred.
The valves would then operate to keep more water from entering.

On the surface the "Pollard" was intended to be run by a powerful
six-cylinder gasoline engine.  When below the surface the boat was to
be propelled by electric power supplied from storage batteries.  Below
the waves the gasoline engine could not be used, as such an engine
consumes air and also creates bad vapors.

On the morning when our two young friends went to work the electrical
engine was fully installed, and had been tested.  The gasoline engine
was in place, but the fittings had yet to be finished.  In the course
of this latter work the necessary connections were to be made between
gasoline engine and dynamo.

The many strong-walled receivers for compressed air had been placed,
and were now being more securely fitted and connected by the workmen.
The final work on the compressed air apparatus was yet to be done by a
special crew of workmen who were soon to come down from New York.  A
powerful, compact plant for compressing air was a part of this outfit.

Right up in the bow of the "Pollard" was the tube through which a
Whitehead torpedo, fourteen feet in length, could be started on its
destructive journey by means of compressed air force.  One torpedo was
to be carried in the tube, six others in special lockers on either side.

Back of the torpedo room was the rather cramped engine room in which
were the gasoline and electric motors, other machinery and work-benches.
Then came the central cabin, some twenty feet long and about ten feet
wide.  Here was a table, while the seats at the side could be arranged
also as berths.  Out of the cabin, aft, led a narrow passageway.  Off
this, on either side, were a narrow galley, cupboards, ice-box and
toilet room.  Nearer the stern were two compact state-rooms, one
intended for two "line" or "deck" officers, the other for two engineer
officers.  There were other features about the "Pollard" that will be
described as need arises.

For more than an hour the entire gang had been at work, though Joshua
Owen had seen to it that Jack and Hal had nothing more to do than lift
or hold heavy articles, fetch tools, etc.  Still both boys stood this
good-humoredly, paying strict attention to orders.  David Pollard,
watching them at times, and guessing how they might feel under such
treatment, found his good opinion of the two newcomers still rising.

Stopping their work, when the order came, the workmen lighted their
pipes.  Jack and Hal, not liking the clouds of tobacco smoke, ran up
the spiral staircase to the manhole, stepping, out upon the platform.
As they did so they encountered a man of about thirty years of age who
had just reached the platform deck from the shed flooring.

"Hullo, what are you two doing here?" questioned the new arrival, looking
the boys over keenly.

"Are you Mr. Farnum?" asked Benson.

"Yes.  Well?"

"Mr. Pollard put us to work here, Mr. Farnum."

"Oh!  That's all right, then," replied the owner of the yard, amiably,
and entered the conning tower.

"Tumble down here, you two lazy young roustabouts!" sounded Owen's
voice a few minutes later.

"We seem to have made a hit with our foreman, don't we?" chuckled
Jack to his chum.

"Mr. Owen," Pollard was saying to the foreman, as the boys rejoined the
crew below, "we can't stand the ringing of hammers all the time, so,
for the next job, I think you'd better fit some of the feed pipes
connecting the gasoline tanks with the motor."

"All right, sir," replied Josh Owen, briefly.  He turned to order
Jaggers and O'brien to bring forward one of the longer pieces of feed
pipe.  This the foreman helped to fit in place.

"Mr. Pollard," reported Owen, soon, "this pipe is a small botch on
the part of the contractor."

"What's wrong" asked the inventor, quickly, springing forward and
bending over to examine.

"The pipe is about a half inch too long," replied Owen.

"But one of the superintendent's men over at the machine shop can cut
it to fit?" asked the inventor, looking uneasy.

"Oh, he can cut it all right, but there's the new thread to be cut,
too," explained the foreman, pointing.  "I'm sorry, sir, but if you
want a good job, without any danger of botch, you'll have to wire the
contractors to rush a new pipe, cut exactly to the specifications."

"But that will delay us at least forty-eight hours, and the launching
date is so near at hand," protested the inventor.

"You'd better put your launching off two days, Mr. Pollard, than take
any chances of having a bad connection in your fuel feed pipes," argued
the foreman.

"Confound such luck!" growled Pollard, turning away.  "Well, come over
to the office with me, and we'll wire a kick and a prayer to the
contractors."

Just as he turned, the inventor barely failed to overhear something that
Jack muttered in an aside to Hal.

"What's that you're saying, Benson?" demanded David Pollard.

"Oh, nothing much, sir," replied Jack, quickly.  "I'm not foreman here,
nor much of anything, for that matter."

"Were you expressing an opinion about this pipe business?"

"Ye-es, sir."

"You agree with me that the pipe can be cut properly at the machine
shop of this yard?" insisted the inventor.  It was strange to ask
such a question of a boy helper, but David Pollard, facing a delay
in the launching of his craft, was ready to jump at any hope.

Jack Benson hesitated.

"I want a reply," persisted Mr. Pollard.

"Why, yes," Jack admitted.  "I don't want to be forward, but I feel
pretty sure the pipe can be measured both for its own length and the
length it ought to be.  If there's a good metal saw over at the machine
shop, and a thread cutter, this pipe ought to be ready for safe fitting
in half an hour."

"That's the way it looks to me, too," broke in Mr. Farnum.  "Send the
pipe over, anyway, with the proper measurements, and Partridge can tell
you what's what."

"I won't make the measurements.  I won't have anything to do with
it, or be responsible for a botched job," snarled the foreman.

"You don't have to, then," replied Farnum, taking a spring steel tape
from his pocket.  "Benson, you seem to have a clear-headed idea of what
you're talking about.  Take the measurements.  This tape has been
standardized."

It was not a matter of great difficulty.  Jack, with his chum's aid,
soon had the measurements taken.

"Since you youngsters know so much about it," growled Joshua Owen,
"you two can carry the pipe over to the machine shop."

Other workmen sprang to help in passing the pipe up through the manhole
and down over the side of the hull.  When Jack and Hal got the pipe
up on their shoulders they staggered a bit under its weight.  But
they were game, and started away with it.

"That's a shame," growled Mike O'brien.  "Boss, leave me go 'an be
helpin' the b'yes with that load."

"Go ahead," nodded Mr. Farnum.  O'brien went nimbly down the ladder,
placing one of his own sturdy shoulders under the forward end of the
pipe, while Benson got back with Hal Hastings at the other end.  In
about three-quarters of an hour the trio were back, with the pipe cut
to the right length, and with a new screw-thread cut at the shortened
end.

"Now, you can demonstrate your own work, Benson," laughed Mr. Farnum.
"Fit the pipe yourself, and call on the men for what help you want."

At that, Joshua Owen folded his arms as he stepped back scowling.  Yet
when the crew, under Jack's direction, had finished fitting the pipe
in place, not even this angered foreman dared say that it was not
fitted properly.

The next work called for fitting some pipe-joints, and in this a red
lead cement was used.  One of these joint-makings fell to Benson and Hal.

"Here's yer cement," muttered the scowling Dan Jaggers, passing a rough
ball of the stuff to young Benson.

"Is this the best you have?" asked Jack, eyeing the cement with disfavor.

"Yes," growled Dan, "and it's plenty good enough."

"I'd call it too dry," replied Jack, quietly.

"Are you bossing this job all the way through?" demanded Joshua Owen,
angrily, stepping forward.  "Mr. Farnum, Mr. Pollard, if these boys are
to have charge of this work, I may as well stop."

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Farnum, coining forward.

"This younker is grumbling about the red lead cement," snapped the
irate foreman.

"What's the complaint, Benson?" asked the boatyard owner.

"No complaint, Mr. Farnum," Jack answered, quickly.  "Only, I've got to
make the joint fast with red lead cement, and it seemed to me that this
stuff is too dry.  If I use it, it won't fill out smoothly enough.  It's
dry and crumbly, and I'm afraid the joint would be very defective."

"Nothing of the sort!" snapped Joshua Owen.  "Boy, you've no business
trying to do a man's work, anyway.  Give me that cement, and I'll make
the joint fast myself."

"All right," nodded Benson, stepping back.  He started to pass the
chunk of cement to the foreman, but Mr. Farnum quickly took it from
him, then cast a look upward.  Asa Partridge, the yard superintendent,
a man past fifty, stood on the platform deck, looking down through
the open manhole.

"Come down here, Mr. Partridge," hailed the yard's owner, while Joshua
Owen's scowl became deeper than ever.  "Mr. Partridge, Benson says
this cement is too dry to make a joint tight with.  Owen says it isn't.
Who wins the bet?" the owner finished, laughingly.

Asa Partridge, a man of long experience in steam-fitting, took the chunk
of cement, examining it carefully, then picked it to pieces before he
rejoined dryly:

"Why, the boy wins, of course.  Any apprentice ought to know that cement
as dry as this stuff can't make a tight joint."

"Isn't there some better cement than this around?" called out Mr. Farnum.

"If there isn't," volunteered the superintendent, "I can send you over
plenty.  But the use of such stuff as that would leave some joints
loose, and make a breakdown of the boat's machinery certain."

"You see, Owen," spoke the yard's owner, quietly, turning to the foreman,
"you're letting your dislike for these boys spoil your value here as
foreman."

"I've stood all I'm going to stand here," shouted Joshua Owen, in
a tempest of rage, as he snatched off his apron.  "You're letting
these boys run the job--"

"Nothing of the sort," broke in Farnum, icily.  "They haven't tried
to run anything.  But any workman is entitled to complain when he's
expected to perform impossibilities with poor material."

"There ye go, upholding 'em again," roared the foreman.  "I'm through.
I've quit!"

"I don't know as that's a bad idea, either, Owen," replied Mr. Farnum,
in the same cool voice.  "When you don't care how you botch a job
it's time for you to walk out.  You can call at the office this afternoon,
and Mr. Partridge will give you your pay."

Joshua Owen glared, amazedly, at his employer.  Then, seeing that
his threat had been taken at par, and that he was really through here,
the infuriated man wheeled like a flash, leaping at Jack Benson from
behind and striking the boy to the floor.  But Grant Andrews, O'brien
and others leaped at him and pulled him away.

Jacob Farnum pointed up the spiral staircase, as Jack Benson leaped
to his feet, hardly hurt at all.

"You can't get out of here too quickly, Owen!" warned the owner.
"If you linger, I'll have you helped out of this boat!  Grant Andrews,
you're foreman here from now on."

"First of all, see that that fellow gets out of here in double-quick
time."

"Come along, Dan!" called Owen, hoarsely to his nephew, as he started
up the stairway.

"Yes, run along, Danny," added Farnum, mockingly.  "You're no better
than your uncle!"

After the pair had departed it took all hands at least five minutes
to cool down from their indignation.  Then they resumed work, and
all went smoothly under the quiet, just, alert new foreman, Grant
Andrews.

That afternoon, as Jack crossed the yard, going on an errand from
Mr. Pollard to the office, he encountered Josh Owen and his nephew.
The pair had just collected their pay from the superintendent.  They
were talking together, in low, ugly tones, when they caught sight
of the boy.

Though Benson saw them in season to avoid coming close to them, he
neither dodged the pair nor courted a meeting.  He would have passed
without speaking, but Joshua Owen seized the boy by one arm.

"I s'pose ye feel me and you had trouble, and you got the best of it?"
leered the former foreman, then scowled.  "But listen to me, younker.
Ye're going to run into trouble, and quicker than ye think, at that.
That old cigar shaped death-trap won't float--not for long, anyway.
All I'm hoping is that ye'll go in for bein' one of the crew of that
submarine boat.  Then I'll be even with a lot of ye all at the same
time!"

With which enigmatic prophecy Joshua Owen let go of the boy's arm,
and tramped heavily away, followed by his precious nephew.




CHAPTER IV

THE TRICK OF THE FLASHLIGHT


"Have you seen anything of Owen, since he was discharged?"

It was David Pollard who put the question, while the crew, under the
new foreman, Andrews, was busy the next day with more work on the
motor fittings.

Then, for the first time, except to his chum, Jack Benson told of
his meeting in the yard.

"Making threats against you, and against the boat, is he?" smiled
Mr. Pollard.  "Well, he can't get near the boat.  Partridge took the
precaution of getting the keys back from Owen yesterday afternoon,
when the fellow went to get paid off.  But as for his threats against
you--"

"It will be just as well to look out for the fellow, Benson, and you,
too, Hastings," put in young Mr. Farnum, who happened to be aboard.
"Owen is an ugly fellow, and a powerful one, and I imagine he possesses
a certain amount of rough brute courage."

"I'm not afraid of him, sir," replied Jack, coolly.  "At the same
time, of course, I'll keep my eyes open."

"Owen probably can't hang around Dunhaven very long, anyway," continued
the owner of the yard.  "I don't believe he has very much saved.  Of
course, he can't get any work in his line in Dunhaven, now that this
yard is closed to him.  So look out for a day or two, and, after that,
I guess he'll be gone."

"I'll keep my eye open, but I shan't lose any rest," smiled young
Benson, confidently--too confidently, as the sequel proved.

Work was now proceeding at a rapid rate.  Andrews was an ideal foreman,
quiet, alert, watchful and understanding his trade thoroughly.  He was
something of a driver, as to speed, but workmen do not resent that if
the one in authority be just and capable.

"I wish we had had you as foreman from the start, Andrews," remarked
the inventor.

"Well, I was here, and ready to be called at any time," replied the
new foreman, with a smile.

"By the way, you don't seem to have any trouble with Benson or Hastings,"
pursued Mr. Pollard.

"Not a bit.  They're good helpers.  In fact, young as they are, they
are a long way on the road to being real mechanics."

"You don't find them forward, or--well, fresh?"

"They're not the least bit troubled that way," replied the new foreman
emphatically.  "Owen didn't get along with them, and couldn't have
done so, because he's a nagger, and no self-respecting workman will
stand for a nagger.  There were times when O'brien and I wondered
if we hadn't better pitch him out and then leave our jobs."

Thus matters went along most smoothly.  Jack Benson and Hal Hastings,
with a good general knowledge of mechanics, and willing to work hard
and tackle new problems, were learning much.  Even before the "Pollard"
was launched and sent on her trial trip these two boys showed remarkable
proficiency in equipping and handling this wonderful class of craft.

In the meantime the boys had left the hotel, taking up their quarters
at a comfortable boarding-house where Foreman Andrews lived.  Though
Farnum was paying them fair wages, they were thrifty enough to be
on the lookout for any outside work with their camera outfit.  So
it happened that, one evening after supper, Jack and Hal, carrying
their outfit, set out on a walk of more than two miles.  They had
secured an order to go to a wealthy man's summer "cottage," as the
great, handsome pile was called, there to make some flashlight photographs
of some of the large, expensively furnished rooms.

Time flew, and the owner of the cottage caused many delays by wishing
furniture shifted about before the photographs were made.  It was
after eleven o'clock at night when the two submarine boys left the
cottage to tramp back to Dunhaven.  As they neared the village they
heard the town clock striking midnight.  That was the only sound they
could hear besides the movement of their own feet.  Dunhaven was wrapped
in sound slumber.

Their way led the boys close to Farnum's boatyard.  As they came around
a corner of the fence, Hal, who was slightly in the lead, stepped
back quickly, treading on his friend's toes.

"Sh!" whispered Hastings.  "Keep quiet and take a sly peep around
the corner.  Look up along the fence and see what you make out."

Slipping off his hat, Jack took a hasty look, exposing very little
of his head, while Hal now crowded close to him from behind.

"Someone trying to scale the fence," whispered Jack.  "By Jove, there
he goes.  He has a good hold, and is going--now he's over in the
yard."

Such stealthy prowling could mean little else than mischief brewing.
To both the boys came instantly the same thought:

"The submarine boat!"

"Did you recognize him?" whispered Hal, quivering.

"No; too dark for that, and, besides, he was too quick.  But we must
hustle to alarm someone."

"There's a watchman in the yard," Hal replied.  "He ought to be getting
busy."

"I don't hear any hail, or any shot," Jack replied.  "Hal, old fellow,
we've got to do something ourselves."

"Well, we can climb the fence as well as that stranger did."

"We'd better.  Here, take the flashlight gun.  Pass that and the camera
up as soon as I get to the top of the fence.  We can't leave our outfit
outside--it's worth too much money."

With that Jack Benson swiftly found a knothole in which he could get
a slight foot-hold.  With that start he was quickly up on top of the
ten-foot fence.  Bending down he took camera and flashlight "gun."
Hal hurriedly followed.  Down in the yard, they started speedily
though softly forward, going by impulse straight toward the submarine's
shed, though keeping in the shadow of other buildings.

Arrived at one corner of the office building, young Benson, who was
in the lead, signaled a stop.  Hal halted just behind him.

"It's the submarine, all right, that the fellow's after," whispered
Jack excitedly, as he peeped.  "Make him out over there, at the door?
Gracious!  He's unlocking and throwing the padlock off.  And, blazes!
Can't you make out who it is, Hal?"

"Josh Owen!  But he gave up his keys."

"He had at least one duplicate, then," declared Jack, in a tremulous
whisper.  "There, he's gone inside.  Come on, Hal--soft-foot!  We'll
take a near look at what he's doing."

There was some distance to be traveled, and it had to be done with
the utmost stealth.  Whatever Josh Owen--if it was truly he--was
doing in the submarine shed, the young shadows did not wish to put
him on his guard until they had caught him red-handed.

"Where's the night watchman while all this is going on?" wondered
Jack as he tip-toed forward.  It was afterwards discovered that the
watchman, who sometimes drank liquor, was at this moment sound asleep
in one of the sheds.  There was no time to be squandered in looking
for him if Josh Owen was to be followed and foiled.

Creeping to the now open door of the submarine's shed, Jack, who was
in the lead, took a peep inside.

There was a dim light in there, though it came from the further side
of the hull.  Benson signaled, and his friend followed him, stealthily,
a step or two at a time, around to the stern of the "Pollard" as she
lay on the stocks.

By this time a noise that plainly proceeded from the use of tools
came to the ears of the boys.  Their nerves were on the keenest tension
as they reached the stern of the propped-up hull.

Then they came in sight of the quarry.  Almost in the same flash they
realized what the night's mischief was.

Depending wholly on the light of a dark lantern that lay on the floor
of the shed, Owen, with two or three tools, was swiftly, wickedly
tampering with one of the sea-valves belonging to one of the forward
water compartments of the submarine.

This valve, if leaking badly when the craft lay submerged, would let
in enough water to cause the "Pollard" to lurch and then go, nose-first,
to the bottom.  It was wholly possible, too, that a capable workman
could tamper with the valve so that, on casual inspection, the damage
would not be detected.

Hal Hastings's heart beat fast as he viewed this dimly illumined piece
of cowardly treachery.  His fingers itched to lay hold of Josh Owen,
uneven though the fight might be with both boys for assailants.

But Jack Benson, though his first impulse was to let out a Comanche
yell, and then dart forward into the fray, instantly conceived a plan
that he thought would work better.

Gripping his chum's arm for silence, Jack whispered in his ear:

"Can you set the camera for universal focus, here in the shadow?"

"I--I think so," came Hal's low, quivering reply.

"Do it--like lightning, then!"

In his hand Jack held the flashlight "gun."  It was one of those patent
affairs, arranged to fire a charge of magnesium powder by the explosion
of a cap when the trigger was pressed.

Dropping to one knee, Hal set the camera, half by instinct, half by
guess.  While he did so, Jack fixed a charge of the powder in the
firing pan of the "gun."

These preparations made hardly any noise; such as might have been
heard in a silent room was drowned by the tap-tap of a small hammer
that Josh Owen was at the moment using.

And now, without glancing back at the stern, the ex-foreman half-turned
his head, so as to give a profile view of his face.

Hal, kneeling, turned up quickly to nod the signal that the camera
was ready.

Pop!  Flare!

As the cap exploded, a blinding flash filled that side of the shed
for a brief instant.  It was as through a lightning bolt had plunged
into the place.

Wholly unprepared for any such happening, Josh Owen let out a yell
of fear, rose up and leaped back so that he upset and extinguished
his dark lantern.

"Wha-wha-what was that?" he faltered.

In the intense darkness that followed the flash Jack and Hal stole away.

Suffering all the terrors of a guilty conscience, increased by the
terror of the inky darkness under such circumstances, Josh Owen tremblingly
felt for his momentarily useless lantern.  It took him some moments
to find it.  Even then his fingers shook so convulsively that it needed
several trials before he got the light going.

By this time Jack and Hal were safely outside.  More than that, Jack
held in his hand the padlock of the door, with the false key in it.

"Why not slam the padlock shut over the door and lock him in there
until we can get someone here?" whispered Hal Hastings.

By this time the two boys were hiding behind the corner of a nearby
building.

"I thought of that," whispered Jack, "and I'd like to do it.  But Owen
has a fearful temper.  If we locked him in there, and he knew he had
to be caught, he'd do thousands of dollars' worth of damage.  As it is,
if you watch out, you'll soon see him quitting that shed and getting
away as fast as he can."

Not more than a few seconds later Josh Owen appeared at the door of the
shed.  He shut off the light from his dark lantern, then stole swiftly
towards the fence.  Going up and over, he vanished from sight.

"Now, we'll lock the shed, take this false key to Mr. Andrews, and let
him decide whether to rouse Mr. Pollard or Mr. Farnum," announced
Jack Benson.

Grant Andrews, as soon as he was aroused at the boarding house, and had
been made to understand, took the false key, saying:

"I'll go over to the hotel and call Dave Pollard.  Then I'll do whatever
he says."

The inventor was greatly excited over the news borne to him by the
new foreman.  Together they hurried to the Farnum yard, unlocked the
door to the submarine's shed, entered and made a hasty examination.

Thanks to the promptness of Jack Benson and Hal Hastings, Josh Owen
had not had time to inflict more damage to the forward sea-valve than
could be readily repaired.

"I guess that was what the infernal rascal meant when he told Jack
Benson that the 'Pollard' would dive to the bottom and stay there,"
exclaimed the inventor, in a shaking voice.  He smiled a ghastly smile.

"We'll put a stop to such pranks after this," replied the new foreman.
"Until your craft is launched, sir, I'll sleep here nights, beginning
with what's left of to-night."

Before the inventor left the yard, he hunted for and found the drunken
night watchman, who was still asleep.  That worthless guard was
discharged the following day.




CHAPTER V

ONE MAN'S DUMFOUNDED FACE


When the new foreman's gang started on the "Pollard," at eight in the
morning, there was no outward ripple to show that anything unusual had
happened.  True, Jacob Farnum arrived at the shed earlier than he was
accustomed to do, but those of the workmen who were not in the secret
thought nothing of that.

Half an hour later Josh Owen, a peculiar, gleaming look in his eyes,
showed his head at the manhole opening over their heads.

"Good morning, Mr. Farnum," he called.

"Good morning, Owen," answered the yard's owner.  "Come right down."

Owen came down the spiral staircase, looking curiously about him.

"I got your note, Mr. Farnum," began the ex-foreman.  "What's the
matter?  Find you need me here, after all?"

"Not for long," replied Mr. Farnum, coldly.  "Owen, before you gave your
keys in to Mr. Partridge you must have taken an impression of one of
them and must have fitted a key to the pattern.  Why were you here last
night?"

"Me? I wasn't here last night--nor any other night," Josh Owen made
haste to answer, though a look of guilty alarm crept into his face.  All
of the workmen had ceased their toil, and stood looking on at this
unusual scene.

"You say you weren't here last night?" demanded Mr. Farnum, sternly.
"And you didn't use any false key to get into this shed?"

"Of course I didn't," retorted the ex-foreman, defiantly.  "You wrote a
note to me that, if I'd come around here this morning, I'd hear of a job.
I didn't come here to be insulted."

"The job I mentioned in my note," rejoined Mr. Farnum, with a meaning
smile, "is over at the penitentiary.  Owen, you did come here last night.
You scaled the fence at the west side, crossed the yard, opened the door
of this building with this key--"

Here the yard's owner held out the false key, that all might see it.

"--and," finished Mr. Farnum, "you came in here and went to work to
damage a sea-valve forward on this craft.  The valve shows, this morning,
very plain traces of having been tampered with."

Josh Owen was summoning all his courage, all his craft.  Instead of
looking frightened, he glared boldly at his accuser.

"Who says I did such a thing?" he demanded, hotly.

"Benson and Hastings saw you at your rascally work, my man."

"Humph!" snorted the ex-foreman.  "Who?  Those boys?"

"Yes."

"Humph!  I wouldn't believe those boys under oath, and you'll make a
huge mistake if you do, Mr. Farnum," continued Josh Owen, hotly.

"Then you deny that you were here, and that you tampered with a sea-valve
last night?" insisted the yard's owner, looking his man keenly in the
eyes.

"I'll deny it with my dying breath," asserted the former foreman, boldly.
"As for those lying boys--"

"Do you believe _this_ can lie?" inquired Mr. Farnum, passing the
accused man a photograph print.

Josh Owen took the print, staring at it hard.  In an instant his eyes
began to open as wide as it was possible for them to do.  A sickly,
greenish pallor crept into the man's face.  Beads of cold perspiration
appeared on his forehead and temples.

"You see, your face shows up very clearly," went on the yard's owner,
in the same cold, crushing voice.  "Moreover, it shows you right at one
of the sea-valves, and in the very act of tapping with a hammer.  You
didn't know that Benson and Hastings are very fair photographers, did
you?"

"I don't care what they are," cried Owen, in a passionate voice, as
before the print to small bits.  "That isn't a photograph of me, even if
it does look like me, and I wasn't here last night.  I--"

"Any judge and jury will believe the evidence against you, my man,"
cried Farnum, sternly.  "As for the boys, maybe you don't like them,
nor they you.  They've reason enough for not liking you.  Besides,
they couldn't photograph anything that wasn't here to be photographed."

"Then it was that flash--" began Josh Owen.

He stopped instantly, biting his lips savagely.

"Yes, they took the picture by flashlight, and you've just admitted
remembering the flash that interrupted your rascally labor," exclaimed
Mr. Farnum, triumphantly.  "As for the print you've just torn up, Owen,
it doesn't make any difference.  There are other copies of it.  Now,
my fine fellow, you've been trapped just as nicely as the law requires,
and, in addition, you know you're guilty of the whole thing.  Now--"

But Owen leaped up the spiral staircase, shouting:

"I won't be taken alive!  I--"

Andrews, O'brien and another workman sprang forward to seize the fellow,
but Mr. Farnum called them back.  Josh Owen got down from the platform
deck, and out of the shed in a twinkling.

"Let him go," ordered, the yard's owner.  "He won't be seen around
Dunhaven after this.  If he is, I can quickly enough put the law's
officers on his track.  But he'll vanish and stay vanished."

"I shan't soon forget the absolutely dumfounded look on his face when
he saw that photograph," laughed Mr. Pollard.  "It was a look of
complete, incredulous amazement."

"I'm sorry for the wretch's family," sighed Mr. Farnum.  "However, if
Owen clears out promptly, and stays away from this part of the country,
I'll give him an opportunity for a new chance."

Then the work went on again.  Even with the thorough examination of the
sea-valve that had been, tampered with, there was not so much to be
done, for this was the last day of the work.  On the morrow Dunhaven
was to be more or less alive, for the "Pollard" was to be launched
then.  Many visitors, including a swarm of newspaper men, were expected.
An officer of the United States Navy was also booked to be present, to
witness the launching, and to note how the "Pollard" might sit on the
water afterwards.

Before four o'clock the last stroke of work had been done.  Mr. Farnum,
the anxious, inventor, the foreman and the others went all over the
submarine marine craft, inside and out, locking for any detail of the
work that might have been slighted.

"It's all done--finished," cried David Pollard, nervously.

"And, Mr. Andrews, you'll have a real guard here to-night to help you
keep watch," announced Jacob Farnum.  "We've heard the last of Owen,
without a doubt, but we won't take a single chance to-night.  Now, men,
all be here at seven in the morning, ready for work.  The launching
is to be at ten o'clock, but at the last moment we may find that
something needs overhauling.  Now, you've all worked hard and
faithfully."  "Here's a little present for each of you, with much more
to come if the boat proves the success we hope."

As the men passed him, Jacob Farnum handed each a crisp ten-dollar
banknote.  Even Jack and Hal were thus remembered.

"But we haven't been here, sir, long enough to earn this present,"
protested Jack Benson.

"You haven't been here long, perhaps," smiled Mr. Farnum.  "But think
of what you did last night.  By the way, Benson, and Hastings, I want
to see you at my office at once."

Wondering somewhat, the youngsters followed their employer, and David
Pollard accompanied them.

"Now, then, boys," began their employer, seating himself at his desk,
"I want to say to you that my friend Pollard hired you on the strength
of your general appearance and the impression you both made.  At the
same time Pollard was careful to write to the references you gave in
your home town.  This noon he received letters from your former school
teacher and your minister.  Both speak in the nicest terms of you both,
as honorable, upright, hard-working young men."

"It's fine to know that one is remembered in that way," Jack replied,
his face, and Hal's, showing their pleasure.

"Now, to go on," continued Mr. Farnum, "as soon as the boat is in the
water there comes up the question of a crew for the 'Pollard.'
Some of our good hands, especially those with families, say very
frankly that their taste doesn't run to going down in diving boats,
on account of the possible chance that the Pollard might not be able
to get up to the surface again.  But Pollard tells me that you've
applied for a chance to belong to the crew of the boat."

"That's our biggest wish, gentlemen!" cried Jack Benson, his eyes
glowing.

"Nothing else could give us half the delight," confirmed Hal Hastings.

"Then we're going to give you the chance," announced Mr. Farnum, while
David Pollard nodded.  "But, of course, you're not blind to the fact
that, even on the most perfect submarine torpedo boat, there's some risk
to your lives."

"One isn't wholly safe, either," retorted Jack, coolly, "in crossing
a crowded city street."

"Then you're both alive to the danger, but not afraid to chance it?"

"We're ready for anything in the submarine boat line," declared Jack
and Hal, in the same breath.

"Then that's settled.  You're both engaged to serve aboard the 'Pollard'
when she floats--and dives," wound up Mr. Farnum, dropping back into
his matter-of-fact tone, and mopping his face, for the July afternoon
was exceedingly hot.  "By the way, boys, how do you feel about taking
a little pleasure trip to-night?  How'd you like to take one of my
horses and a buggy, after supper?"

"Fine and splendid," replied Jack, with enthusiasm.

"And, by the way, since your references are so good, I can give you a
chance to try to make a little extra money, if you like."

"Extra money is highly prized in the town where we come from, sir,"
laughed young Benson.

"Well, see here, over at Waverly Center, eight miles from here, is a
man named George Forrester.  Now, Forrester owes me, and has owed me,
for some time, eight hundred dollars for a little boat we built him
here.  Forrester was always considered a safe man, but for some reason
he has let this bill run.  If you care to, you may take the bill and
drive over to see him to-night.  I'll pay you a commission of five
per cent. on the whole bill, or any part that you can collect.  But I
warn you that you may find Forrester a bit shy about settling."

No matter!  A chance to get in forty dollars in an evening looked
extremely attractive to these young submarine boys.




CHAPTER VI

ALONG THE TRAIL OF TROUBLE


"I wonder if we shall find our man at home?" remarked Jack Benson, as
he and his chum drove over the road to Waverly Center in the early
evening.

"I wonder if he'll settle the bill!" rejoined Hal.

"If he has the money, and doesn't settle, it'll show what poor collectors
we are," laughed Jack.

"Very few men keep eight hundred dollars around the house," objected
young Hastings.

"And our man won't have that amount in cash, either.  I'd be almost
afraid to take that amount of real money, at night.  If Mr. Forrester
is willing to do something pleasant for us, it will be in the form
of a check, of course."

"I'd like to come out all right with Mr. Forrester, of course," Hal
admitted.  "But, to tell the truth, I haven't been thinking much about
Jack, old fellow, all my real thoughts are on our wonderful chance
to be part of the trial crew of the 'Pollard.'"

"Same here," admitted Benson.  "Say, money does look rather small,
compared with a chance like ours.  Now, doesn't it?"

So they hardly mentioned Mr. Forrester on the rest of that cool,
delightful drive.  Arrived at Waverly Center, however, they had to
inquire the way to the Forrester house.  They found it, a comfortable
though not pretentious house.  The owner was at home, and saw them at
once.

"May we see you alone, Mr. Forester?" asked Jack Benson, respectfully.

"Is it as bad as all that?" laughed their host, I a pleasant-faced,
rather bald man past forty.  "Come into my little den, then."

He conducted them to a small room that looked as though it served
partly the purposes of library and partly of office.

"Now, what can I do for you?" inquired Mr. Forrester.

"We represent Mr. Farnum, of Dunhaven," began Jack, slowly.

"Farnum?  Oh, yes, the boat-builder.  He must know that I don't want
anything new in his line, and on any other business I imagine he would
have sent someone--er--older."

"Mr. Farnum believed you would find it wholly convenient, now, to
settle the account for the last bill," Benson went on, slipping the
statement from an inner pocket and laying it on the desk before Mr.
Forrester.  That gentleman frowned slightly.

"I trust we haven't called at the wrong time, and that it will be
wholly convenient for you this evening," Jack continued.

"But, see here, young man, I know nothing about you.  You have the bill,
true, but it is not receipted."

"I will receipt it, in Mr. Farnum's name."

"All well and good," replied Mr. Forrester.  "But--pardon me--how do I
know that you have any authority to receipt for this account?"

"Then I think you will appreciate my painstaking care to make everything
regular and satisfactory," laughed Jack, very quietly.  "Here is a
paper, signed by Mr. Farnum, authorizing me to receipt this account
in his name.  You may keep this authorization along with the receipt.
Mr. Forrester, it is growing late, and we are obliged to be at business
early in the morning.  You will oblige us by letting us have your
check, won't you?"

Benson spoke as though he had not a doubt of immediate settlement.  Yet
his tone and his manner were such as not to give the least offense to
the man who was being "dunned."

"Why, this--er--is rather a late time in the day to collect bills,"
hinted Mr. Forrester, in an uncertain voice.

"Had the matter not been just a little pressing we wouldn't have ventured
over as late," Benson replied, softly.  "However, you understand what
I would say, don't you, Mr. Forrester?"

There was something about the young speaker's manner, his tone, the
look in his eyes, that proclaimed him to be anything but a "quitter."
Mr. Forrester began to feel that, if he succeeded in evading payment
this evening, he would only have to see these young men frequently.

"Well, you see, Benson," he said, at last, "I don't want to draw for
such a sum against my check account before to-morrow."

"I think we could come again to-morrow, if we _have_ to," responded
young Benson, as though thinking it over.

"I am going to make a deposit in my bank in the morning," continued
the man.

"Then we are to come again to-morrow evening?" insisted Jack.

"Why, hang it, no.  If you'll take cash, instead of check, I can let you
have the money to-night."

But that gentleman added, under his breath:

"I may as well settle to-night as have them coming again to-morrow."

"Why, certainly we'll take the cash, to-night," replied young Benson,
his face beaming at thought of how easily a fine commission was to be
earned as part of an evening's pleasure.

Mr. Forrester, having made the offer, began secretly to regret it.  He
was a man who meant to pay his debts, but just now he felt that he would
really like to have the money to use in other directions.

Jack, however; began to suspect that some such thought was in the
other's mind.

"With your permission, Mr. Forrester," said the boy, reaching over
the desk, "I'll borrow one of your pens."

In a firm, clear hand Jack Benson promptly receipted the bill, dating
the receipt as well, and affixing his own name as the collector.

"Now, that's all done," smiled Jack, pleasantly, putting back the pen,
blotting the fresh ink and passing the paper half forward.

Stifling a sigh, Mr. Forrester rose, going to his safe.  A few turns of
the combination lock and he pulled the steel door open.

"Nine hundred and fifty dollars that came in this afternoon.  I intended
to bank it in the morning," he said, then began to count "If a burglar
broke in to-night and cracked the safe," he added, with a laugh, "I'd
be glad, in the morning, that I had settled this bill with cash."

Jack received the bills with a rapidly beating heart.  He counted them,
found the amount correct, and passed half the money to Hal Hastings.

"For safety, Hal," he suggested, "I think we'd better divide the money,
and then each of us put half of his own pile in each shoe."

Mr. Forrester watched with something like an amused smile as the two
youngsters crossed the room, removing their shoes, and putting small
packets of bills down inside.

"I suppose that's in order that a hold-up artist would pass the money
by," he chuckled.  "Well, boys, I wish you a safe journey back with your
money.  We don't often have any hold-ups on these quiet roads, anyway."

Before leaving, Jack took pains to thank his host again, very
courteously, for the settlement of the account.  Then the boys went
outside, untied the horse, got into the buggy and drove away.

"Well, that's a pretty smooth profit for one evening," laughed Jack, as
he turned the horse's head into the highway.

"Forty dollars you make, in one evening," commented Hal.

"Twenty apiece, you mean, old fellow.  You were with me in this."

"But I didn't have to do any of the talking, or anything else."

"Just the same, Hal, you know we're still partners."

"Whew!" said Hastings, uneasily.  "I shall be nervous until we reach
Mr. Farnum's house and hand him the money.  Hold up a minute, Jack,
while we're near houses."

"What's the game?" inquired Benson, as his chum leaped down into the
road and began to rummage about.

"These may be of some use to us in the buggy; just possibly," replied
Hal, returning with a half dozen stones, the size of hens' eggs, which
he placed on the seat between them.  "It's the only form of arms we
have, Jack," he whispered, "and we're carrying a heap more money than
we could make good in a long time."

"We've got only a few miles to go," laughed Jack, easily.  "Besides
who'd ever think of holding up boys?  And no one but Mr. Forrester knows
that we have the cash."

In the first five miles that they drove from Waverly Center the boys
passed only two other horse-drawn vehicles and one automobile.  Then,
suddenly, the keen ears of both boys heard a sound as of some human being
wailing in acute distress.

A moment later they came in sight of the cause of the sounds.  A hatless,
dirty, illy-dressed youngster of perhaps ten years stood by the roadside,
howling and digging his soiled fists into his eyes as he blubbered.  At
sight of the horse and buggy this small sample of human misery looked up
to call, appealingly:

"Hey!  Oh, mister!"

"Well," demanded Jack, reining in the horse, "what's the matter?"

"Oh, mister, mister!  It's me mother!"

"What's the matter with her?  Where is she?"

"She's in there," pointing under the trees just off the road.  "We
was walkin' along, an' one o' them otterbubbles must ha' hit her.
She give a yell, then crawled inter them bushes.  She hain't said
nuthin' lately--an' oh!  I'm dreadful scared!"

"Poor little chap!" muttered Jack, handing the reins to his friend.
"I'll go in and see what's wrong."

But Hal also jumped out, hastily hitching the horse.  Then they followed
their youthful guide in under the trees, to a clump of bushes.  There in
the dark Jack and Hal saw a huddled mass of something lying on the
ground.  Benson was the first to bend over, but Hal, also peering
intently, was close at his side.

"Why, this isn't anything human," called Jack.  "It's just a--"

Thump!  A jarring blow fell upon him from behind, knocking the boy
nearly unconscious.  Hal, struck at the same moment, felt his head reel,
and then did lose consciousness for a few moments.

"Ha, ha!  Ho!  ho!" roared the elfin youngster, his tears suddenly giving
place to laughter as he fled.

It was Joshua Owen, aided by his bullying nephew, Dan Jaggers, who had
made this sudden, treacherous assault.  That both were well prepared for
the miserable trick was shown by the speed with which they tied the
hands of the helpless boys behind them.

"Now, bring _your_ prize along," directed Owen, jubilantly, as he picked
up Hal Hastings, bearing that youth on his shoulder.

Jaggers, though not a giant, was strong enough to do the same with Jack
Benson.  Further and further into the thicket they bore their captives,
pausing only once, to gag their charges as soon as the latter showed a
disposition to yell.

At last the rascally pair halted in the depths of the woods, dumping
their human burdens on the ground.

"You're not the lightest thing I ever carried," growled Josh Owen,
panting somewhat, as he reached for his pipe and filled it.

"Now!" clicked Dan Jaggers, shaking a dirty, heavy fist over Jack's face.
"I can pay you back for that black eye, and all the other mean things
you done to me, you sneak!"

"Oh, we'll pay ye both back," gritted Owen, lighting his pipe and puffing.
"An' say!  I hear ye're both slated for the launchin' of the 'Pollard'
to-morrow, and that ye're to have a try as members of the crew.  Well,
ye won't be at the launching!  Take it from me that, if ye ever git back
to Dunhaven, 'twon't be for many a day yet.  We've got a fine place to
hide ye, near here.  Nobody'll ever find ye, even if they take the
trouble t'look.  And, as the days go by, Dan and me will take plenty of
chance t'show ye just how we feel about ye.  We'll pay ye back, with
loads of interest, younkers, for the mean things ye've done to us!"

As if to emphasize his spite, Owen gave each of them a kick as he stood
over the boys, glaring down at them.

In the minds of Jack and Hal, torment was raging.  Ordinarily, it would
have been bad enough to be certain of missing the launching of the
submarine boat, and of possibly losing their places in the crew.  But
now, a far greater terror assailed them.  They had collected the eight
hundred dollars.  If they failed to appear and to turn it over, Jacob
Farnum would have the best reason in the world for believing them
defaulters.

"Wondering what I'm going to do t'ye, to square matters, ain't ye?"
demanded Dan Jaggers, bending over and glaring into Jack's eyes.  "Well,
go on guessin'.  My hate's that great that I'm goin' ter take plenty o'
time to think it over 'fore I do a thing t'ye."

"I guess, first-off, Dan," observed his uncle, "ye'd better go back t'
the road an' leave that horse somewheres further off.  Probably, if ye
do, it'll trot back into Dunhaven, and that'll be good enough."

"Got any money for licker?" demanded Dan.  "I can git some an' bring it
back."

"Go through the boys' pockets.  Ye ought to find some cash there,"
hinted Owen.

Dan looted a few dollars from the pockets of each captive.  Jack and Hal,
however, were satisfied that their captors knew nothing of the great sum
of money they had collected.

"And, while I think of it, Dan," continued Owen, "ye know where to leave
them boys' shoes.  Ye know who they'll fit."

Josh Owens started by unlacing Jack's shoes roughly and hauling them off.
As he did so, oven in the darkness, he saw something fall the ground.

"Money!" gasped Josh Owen, in evil delight.  "Look at the piles of it!
Hurry with _your_ younker, Dan.  Maybe ye'll have the same luck."

Almost in a twinkling, it seemed to the groaning captives, the rascally
pair had the whole sum of eight hundred dollars in their greedy hands.

Now, what would going back to Dunhaven be like for these two hapless
submarine boys?

Even though they returned, manfully, at the first chance, how would
their story of having been robbed sound?  What a thin, hollow mockery
it would seem, backed only by their own word!

To the two chums it almost seemed as though death would be sweeter!




CHAPTER VII

WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT


"By the great sledge-hammer!  Here's a whole bale of money!" gasped Dan
Jaggers, after having emptied Hal's shoes.

Wholly unmindful of the one he had just robbed, Jaggers sat down on the
ground, passing the banknotes between his fingers.

"I found a small hay-mow of money where I looked, too," observed Josh
Owen, with intense satisfaction, though his manner was calmer.

"How much did _you_ get?" demanded Dan, instantly prepared to be
suspicious that his rascally uncle had happened upon the lion's share.

Josh Owen thrust his findings deep down in a trousers pocket before
he replied:

"No one will see our light 'way in here.  Wait till I light the dark
lantern.  Then we can count up.  But--don't you try to hide any on me,
Dan!"

So keenly did the older man watch the younger one that the former burned
his fingers twice in attempting to light the lantern.  Yet at last the
lantern was lighted, the wick turned up not too high, and then the older
man invited:

"Sit down in front of me, Dan, sociable like, so I can keep track of yer
hands."

"D'ye think I'm the only one'll bear watching?" demanded Jaggers,
hoarsely.  "I ain't taken my eyes off that pocket o' your 'n.  Now, pull
out that money, an' be sure ye git it all out.  Turn the pocket inside
out.  That's right.  Now, you count your money, an' I'll watch.  Then
I'll count mine, an' you can watch, if ye wanter."

Mutual confidence being thus established between the rogues, the
counting proceeded.  Josh found that he had just four hundred dollars
in his "findings."  Dan Jaggers's count proved that that young bully
possessed an exactly equal sum.

"Then there ain't no need o' dividing," declared Dan, thrusting his
money into a trousers pocket and fumbling for a pin with which to close
the top of the pocket.  "Now, I'll go back to the road, find the hoss,
an' drive him most of the way into town.  Then I'll turn the hoss loose,
to do his home-findin' an' I'll keep on until I can buy something in
bottles."

"But ye ain't goin' t' take all that money with ye inter town?"
protested Josh Owen.

"Why not?  It's mine," declared Jaggers, with singular ideas of
ownership.

"But I know ye, Dan Jaggers.  If ye git inter Dunhaven with all that
money ye won't be able to keep from showin' it.  Then, if these boys
ever git loose, an' do their talkin', folks will remember that ye showed
such a lot o' cash on this night, an' the law'll have you caught in yer
own steel trap.  It'd help to put me in trouble, too.  No, no, Danny.
Ye can take five dollars, but ye'll have t' leave the rest of the money
with me."

"An' then I'd find ye here when I came back, wouldn't I?" sneered
Jaggers.

"Yes!" replied Josh Owen, stoutly, and doubtless meant it, for he was
really fond of this rough, shaggy young bully of a nephew of his.
"Don't ye see, Danny, it'd be foolish of me to light out with all the
money?  Then ye'd turn against me, an' help  the constables to catch me.
Looky here, Danny, you trust me, an' ye won't come far out.  Now, take
five dollars, an' leave the rest with me."

"No, I won't," retorted that youth, defiantly.

"Yes, ye will!" suddenly shot from between the lips of Josh Owen.  He
accompanied the words with a spring, bearing his nephew down to the
ground, and holding him there.

"I'm stronger than you, Danny, an' ye know it," growled the ex-foreman,
hoarsely.  "Now, will ye hand up that money, or will ye make me take it
from ye?"

With a reluctant grace, while still pinned down to the ground, Dan
Jaggers surrendered his half of the stolen money.

"Now, ye can git up, and go do what's laid out to be done," announced
Josh Owen, peeling a five-dollar bill from the roll and handing it to
his nephew.  "First, get the horse headed right, then go on into town
and get the liquor.  But don't ye stop to drink in Dunhaven, Danny.  If
ye do, ye'll be sure to git inter a fight, and ye might do some talkin'
too.  Hustle in, and hustle back, and ye'll find ye can trust me to hold
outer to-night's pickings safe for ye.  Don't ye worry a mite on the way
to town or back, Danny boy."

If a scowl could have killed, Dan would have triumphed, even now, at the
expense of his uncle's life.  But Josh paid no heed to black looks.  He
thought he knew this nephew of his.

"Hurry along, Danny," he coaxed.  "My throat is gittin' mighty dry for a
bit o' liquor."

"Give me another five-spot," begged Jaggers.

"Not another dollar till ye come back, Danny," rejoined his uncle,
firmly.  "The quicker ye start, an' return, the quicker ye'll have yer
share of the night's business.  Now, git!"

Using ugly language under his breath, Dan Jaggers turned and shuffled
off through the woods, well knowing that he would suffer from his
uncle's heavy hands if he did not.

Josh now extinguished the light by shutting off the slide of his dark
lantern.  Then, after taking a look at the boys, he seated himself near
them, filling his pipe once more while he muttered:

"Subsequent happenin's clean drove them shoes outer Danny's mind.  An'
I don't wonder!"

Having gotten his pipe comfortably lighted, Josh could not resist the
temptation to open the slide of his lantern ever so little; in order
that he might have another look at the money.

"Wonder how ye came to have it?" he muttered, looking at the boys, who,
being gagged as well as bound, could not have answered anyway. "I guess
likely Farnum must ha' been fool enough to let ye do some collectin' for
him," grinned Josh.  "In that case, younkers, Danny an' me are makin'
it pretty hard for ye all 'round, ain't we?"

That thought appeared to bring Owen around into a state of good humor.
He looked at the chuckling, and two or three times broke out into a
hearty guffaw.

Jack Benson's mental torment grew as the time passed.  Hal Hastings was
in no more enviable frame of mind.

"And we brought this upon us by being sympathetic.  We wanted to help
that infernal little boy out, and carry relief to his injured mother!"
thought Jack, squirming.  "Confound it, I feel, just now, as though I
would never caught trying to do another kind act!  All this fearful luck
just because we had to have more sympathy than brains!  What fools we
are!"

Later came this terrifying thought:

"Mr. Farnum won't believe us, of course.  The story will sound altogether
too absurd."  "What will he do--have us sent to jail as common thieves?"

"Ain't very comfortable in yer mind, are ye, younker?" leered Josh Owen,
hearing the muffled groan that escaped the boy.

Though Josh Owen smoked many pipefuls, time soon began to drag on that
worthy's hands.  Hours slipped by.

"I'd no business to let Danny go," growled Owen, uneasily, time after
time, often rising and pacing about, though never straying away from the
two boys.  "That young feller thinks a heap too much o' liquor for one
so young.  He's spendin' time, as well as money, over in Dunhaven.  It
won't be so bad if he don't take too much, and get talkative."

Two or three times Josh thought he heard someone moving in the woods.
Each time he called softly, or signaled, but there came no response.

Despite his inward suffering, Jack Benson dozed at last.  So, as he
afterwards learned, did Hal.  Yet these drowsings must have been short.
They were filled with horrible dreams of disgrace, imprisonment, and all
the misfortunes that healthy young minds in torment could bring up.

At last Jack awoke, with a start, to realize that it was daylight.

Josh Owen was on his feet, his taste for tobacco gone.  He was listening,
peering between the trees, and making many impatient remarks under his
breath.

"Hullo, uncle!  Gettin' weary, carryin' 'round my share of the money?"
chuckled the voice of Dan Jaggers.  Then that shaggy young bully stepped
out from behind a tree.

"Ye've been long enough," growled his relieved uncle.  "But I'm glad t'
see ye're in good enough shape."

"Oh, I'm all right," admitted Jaggers, serenely, as he came forward.
"I've been back here for hours."

"What are ye telling me?" demanded Josh Owen.

"The facts.  Ye see, Uncle Josh, I wanted to know whether ye'd forgit ye
had my money, an' stray off.  So I've been watchin' round, 'thout making
no noise, for hours."  Josh Owen had no means of knowing whether this
statement was the truth or not, but he growled:

"Then ye must know for sure, now, lad, that I'm square with my own nephew.
What'd ye bring back with ye?"

"Something to eat."

"And something to drink, hey?  I guess we'll eat first."

Dan retraced his way through the woods a few paces, returning with
packages.

"You younkers can see us eat, if you want to," said Josh Owen, with a
malicious leer, as he spread a piece of paper on the ground and began
to lay out the meal.  "When are you two going to eat?  I don't know.
Maybe not for a few days yet.  Ye see, it ain't so easy to make an
enemy of a man by sneaky tricks, and then get on his right side again."

This picnic breakfast lasted a long time, it seemed to watchful Jack
Benson.  But at last it was over.  Josh brought out his ill-smelling
pipe once more, settling himself, with his back against a tree-trunk,
to enjoy himself.

"Bring anything to drink, Danny boy?" inquired Owen, after a few minutes.

"Here's some beer," proposed Jaggers, passing over the bottle.

Josh opened it, took a long drink, then sat with the bottle poised
on one of his knees.

"I don't believe ye'd better have any of this, Danny, lad," declared
Owen, with a grin.

"Don't want any," responded Jaggers, in a rather sulky voice.

Dan got up and strolled about, his hands in his pockets, whistling
softly but cheerily.  Josh Owen finished his unwise beverage, and tossed
the bottle a few feet away.  Presently the man's eyes closed, but he
opened them as though with an effort.

"S'here, Danny," he demanded, thickly, drowsily, "watcher put in that
stuff?"

Dan Joggers did not reply, but he turned to watch his uncle, a look of
the lowest cunning in the young bully's eyes.  For a brief space of
time Owen fought against his drowsiness.   Then he lurched, falling over
on one side, unconscious--drugged.

In a twinkling, then, Dan Jaggers knelt beside his uncle, rifling the
other man's pockets until he had brought to light both their shares in
the evil-doing of the night.




CHAPTER VIII

A SWIFT STROKE FOR HONOR


For the space of a few moments Dan Jaggers stared at the money clutched
in his hands in a way that betrayed the extent of its fascinating hold
upon his mind.

Then he glanced down at his unconscious uncle.

"Ugh!" he grunted, giving that prostrate form a slight but contemptuous
kick.  "If I hadn't done something like this you would.  Oh, ye-eh,
there's honor among thieves, but it's no good trusting to that honor.
Every man for himself, in the woods!"

One more gloating look the shaggy young bully took at all that money,
before thrusting it deep down in a pocket and pinning the opening
securely.

"Don't ye wish ye was me, with all this money to have a good time on?"
he demanded, jeeringly, of Jack Benson.  "But maybe ye've framed up
some kind of a yarn that yer boss, Farnum, will be willin' to believe.
If ye hain't, then mebbe ye'd better never git close to him again."

Dan Jaggers again turned his attention to his overcome uncle, kneeling
beside the ex-foreman and watching his face closely.

And then a strange thing happened, or so it would have seemed, had Dan
Jaggers possessed eyes in the back of his head.  For Jack Benson
likewise his chum had striven many times through the night to free
their wrists of the cords that bound them.  Jack was the first to
succeed, at a cost of hours of effort and thinking.  He wriggled one hand
out from under the knots just as Dan turned for that last look at the
prostrate man.

How fearfully numbed Jack Benson's wrists were, after that long spell of
being tied up.  Yet the boy knew that he must quickly restore circulation
there and get his hands ready for use before it was all too late.

It must be one swift, decisive, conquering stroke for honor's sake.

Jack's trembling right hand went into one of his trousers pockets.  He
found his clasp-knife, yanked it out, opened one of the blades, and Hal
Hastings, who had been watching every move with breathless interest,
now rolled noiselessly so that his chum could reach the rope that held
him captive.

In another twinkling Hal was free.  Just then, Jaggers, fancying he
heard some noise in their direction, turned slowly.  By the time Jaggers
had them within his range of vision each boy was lying as before, his
hands behind his back.

With a heartless chuckle, Dan turned back for one last look at his uncle.
Jack rose, almost fearing to breathe.  Hal started to follow suit.
There was some swift stealthy toe-work.  Just as Dan Jaggers turned more
sharply Jack Benson hurled himself through the air, catching and
clutching at his enemy's neck.  Both rolled over together, Dan, with his
greater strength, fighting like a panther and bear in one.

It was Hal Hastings's chance.  As he darted forward he espied a
serviceable-looking stick on the ground.  He snatched it up with a
single breathless swoop, then poised himself over the struggling
fighters, stick uplifted.

Down came that slender cudgel, striking Dan a light blow squarely top of
his head.

"O-o-ow!  Help!  Quit that!" screamed Dan Jaggers.

"Lie still, then," commanded Hal, sternly.  "And let go of Jack, or I'll
use this stick for I'm worth."

Brave enough while he thought he had a good fighting chance, Dan cowered
under the menace of that club.  He submitted to being rolled on his back,
pleading:

"Don't club me!  I'll be quiet."

"See that you are, then," ordered young Benson, kneeling on his
opponent's chest.  "Remember, Dan, that there are two of us.  We mean
to win, no matter how ugly a fight we have to put up."

"Want the gag that you threw away when you jumped up, Jack?" asked Hal,
with a delighted grin.

"No; we don't need to gag him.  Jaggers, roll over on your face, and
don't you dare make any attempt to get up," ordered the submarine, boy,
rising from his prostrate foe, while Hastings stood ready to use the
stick.

Dan obeyed.  Jack took the slim cudgel from, his chum, who, at a silent
signal, slipped back and picked up some of the slashed cord.  There was
enough of it to accomplish the tying of Jaggers.

"See here," whined Dan, "you're not going to take me to Dunhaven?"

"We're going to get that money away from you, and take it to its rightful
owner," retorted Jack, tersely, as he commenced to tie the knots, while
Hal held the cudgel conveniently close to the bully's head.

Dan, however, had hardly a thought of making any fight.  Jack, alone,
was nearly a match for him.  The two churns, acting together, could
overcome him easily enough at any time.

"Oh, I'll give up the money," promised Dan Jaggers, willingly.

"Thank you," returned Jack, dryly.  "However, we'll take it
ourselves--and right now," he added, as he finished tying the knots
about Dan's wrists.

The rifling of Jaggers's pockets brought to light all of Mr. Farnum's
money except the five dollars Dan had spent in Dunhaven the night before.
However, the boys' own money, that had been taken from their pockets,
and which was now found in one of Owen's vest pockets, made up the
full sum of eight hundred dollars.

"You fellers win, and I lose a good time," muttered Dan, mournfully.
"But say, now you've got the cash again, set me free before ye start for
Dunhaven.  Don't leave me tied up like this."

"We won't," Jack promised him, grimly.  "We'll take you with us."

"Not to Dunhaven!" screamed the bully.

"Even to Dunhaven," mocked Hal.

"But they'll send me to jail," protested the scared wretch.

"Well," insinuated Benson, "can you imagine any other place that would
be as suitable for a fellow of your kind?"

"You fellers promised me ye wouldn't take me to Dunhaven, if I stopped
fighting," whined Jaggers.

"We promised you nothing of the sort," retorted Jack.  "Now, come.  Up
on your feet with you!"

The two submarine boys raised the now whitefaced bully, who was still
pleading and protesting.  Dan refused to start at the word, but a few
sharp cuts across his legs by Hal made the fellow change his mind.

"I reckon your uncle will stay until he's called for," laughed Jack, as
they started.  "Anyway, the matter of greatest importance is to deliver
the money to Mr. Farnum before it goes through any more mishaps."

"I tell ye, tain't right to make me go along an' be sent to jail,"
declared Jaggers, earnestly.  "Ye've already done me harm enough, and
got me outer my job."

"If you haven't head enough to know the difference between getting
yourself into all your troubles, and our doing it, there's no use
arguing the matter," retorted Jack, quietly.  "Get along, now, for we
don't mean to have any nonsense.  We've got to get through in time to
send someone back for your uncle.", Despite the vigilance of both boys,
Dan lagged all he could.  As he came nearer to the seaport village his
despair and rage increased so that he several times halted and flatly
refused to stir.  At such times Hal had to use the stick with
increasing severity.

At last, with a violent wrench, Jaggers, with his strong wrists, managed
to snap the cords upon which he had already made many efforts.

"Now, see here," he defied them, waving his fists in the air, "mebbe ye
think ye're goin' to take me with ye, but ye won't take me inter town
alive!"

Retreating, he crouched against a tree, waving his fists before him.
Jack and Hal lost no time closing in with the bully, but he drove them
back.  The boys were not prepared to do their enemy serious bodily harm;
Dan, on the other hand, didn't care what he did, so the odds seemed
almost in his favor.

"Clear out, an' leave me to take to my heels, an' I'll call it square,"
he shouted, hoarsely.  "But, if ye try to fight, then don't blame me
for anything that happens to ye.  I won't go to jail, I tell ye!  I'll
die, sooner!"

Jack, with his fists up, worked in as close as he could, trying to get
in under the big bully's guard for a clinch, so that Hal Hastings could
finish the work of successful attack.  Dan, fighting with the fury and
strategy of desperation, kept them both off fairly well.

While the opposing forces were so occupied there came down a path out
of the woods, behind the tree against which Jaggers was backed, a third
boy.  About sixteen years old he appeared to be.  He wore patched
overalls, a frayed flannel shirt and a much-used straw hat of the field
variety.  His hair, once brown, had many streaks of reddish tint in it,
from long exposure to the sun.  His face was brick-red from the same
cause.  His rather large hands looked rough enough from hard labor.  But
he had frank, laughing eyes and a homely, honest look.  Moreover, he
had the air of one who could be swiftly alert.

All this Jack Benson noted as soon as he caught sight of the newcomer.

"Hullo, there!" called Jack, pausing.  "This fellow is a thief, and
we're trying to get him to town.  Help us to get him, will you?"

"Want me to look behind me, an' then ye'll jump me, hey?" leered Dan
Jaggers.  "That won't work."

The newcomer grinned broadly, then shot forward.  Ere Jaggers could
change his mind he felt himself clasped from behind, a pair of strong
hands joined over his windpipe, his body thus bound securely to the
tree.

"He--help!" sputtered the victim of this attack.

"We're bringing it to you," laughed Jack, leaping forward.  In a
twinkling, now, the three boys had Dan Jaggers down, and held so closely
that he could not stir.  Benson produced another length of cord, and Dan
had to submit to having his wrists lashed, this time in most workmanlike
manner.

"Thank you, ever so much," acknowledged Jack, looking up at the new boy.

"Oh, you're welcome," laughed the young stranger.  "I know Dan Jaggers,
and I'm willing to believe anything against him."

"I'll live to get square with ye for this, one o' these days, Eph
Somers!" growled the captive.

"Oh, take your time about it, Dan," laughed Eph, unconcernedly.  "I'm
patient, you know, about such things.  In fact, I come of a patient
family."




CHAPTER IX

THE SUBMARINE MAKES ITS BOW TO OLD OCEAN


"Which way were you headed when you happened along?" inquired Jack
Benson.

"Dunhaven way," responded Eph Somers.

"Good enough.  That's where we're going, too."

"It's me for the submarine launching today," Eph remarked, rather
ungrammatically.  "I wouldn't miss that for the world."

"Nor would we, either," added Hal.  "Especially, as we've helped in the
work on her.  And, gracious, what time is it?"

"Just about eight o'clock," replied Somers, consulting his watch.

"And the launching is at ten o'clock.  Come; we must hustle along.  What
will Mr. Farnum be thinking of us?"

"He probably believes _we_ stole the money, and he must have officers out
looking for us by this time," hinted Jack; with a wry face.

Jack thought, to be sure, of Josh Owen, back there in the woods, but
clearly it would be out of place to ask Eph Somers to go back and
attend to the ex-foreman.  Besides, they could all soon be in Dunhaven,
and then a constable or two could be sent out to search.

At first, Dan tried his old tactics of balking, but a few energetic,
rough-and-ready punches from Eph caused the bully to change his mind.
After that he went along in sullen silence.  It was not long before
the quartette turned down into the shore road that led up to the boatyard.

As they came near the big gate, still closed to the public, the boys
beheld a crowd of several Hundred people.  There were many vehicles and
automobiles there, also.

"Here come those boys!  Hey, young fellows, the officers are looking for
you!" shouted someone.

"I guess so," admitted Jack, dryly.  "However, they won't want us.  Let
us through this crowd, please.  We want to find Mr. Farnum without
delay."

The new watchman, at the gate, admitted them without question.  Eph
Somers, being of the party, got into the yard also, without any
difficulty.

It being, now, less than two hours before the time set for the launching
of the "Pollard," both the yard's owner and the inventor were with the
gang of workmen that was busy removing the water end of the submarine
craft's construction shed.

"Here come Benson and Hastings," called Grant Andrews, catching sight of
the boys.

Jacob Farnum turned to look at them, then came on the run.

"I hear you have put officers out, after us, and I don't blame you,"
smiled Jack, rather grimly.  "However, we didn't run away with your
money, and we would have been back last night had that been possible."

"I could hardly bring myself to believe that you had absconded," cried
Mr. Farnum, ruefully.  "I sent officers out on the trail as much to
learn what had happened to you as for any other reason.  The horse came
in with the buggy last night, and I knew something was wrong.  But this
fellow, Jaggers--"

"He and Owen tricked us and got us last night," explained Benson.  "I
don't, believe they knew anything about the money.  They just wanted to
beat us to their heart's content.  But they found the money, and--but
I'd better begin at the beginning."

This Jack did, soon putting Mr. Farnum in possession of the whole story.

"I'll send two men with Jaggers, to turn him over to the constable,"
remarked Mr. Farnum.  "I'll also send the alarm out so that Josh Owen
may be caught.  Both these fellows must have their full deserts."

"Perhaps, first of all, you'll take this money," urged Jack, producing
the roll of banknotes.  "Count it over, will you please, sir?"

Mr. Farnum rapidly counted.  "Just eight hundred," he nodded.  "But,
according to your story, it ought to be five dollars short, on account
of what this rascal, Jaggers, took out to spend."

"We've made that good out of some of our own money that the pair took
away from us, and which we got back with yours."

"You won't do anything of the sort," retorted Mr. Farnum, thrusting
the money down in one of his pockets.  "I owe you that five, besides
your commission of forty dollars.  And I'll settle with you just as
soon as we get our rush off.  But now--you haven't had any breakfast.
Rush up to the hotel and get it at my expense.  Then be sure to be
back here before ten o'clock.  And say, boys, you're the right kind
of material--both of you.  I hope to keep you with us."

Two men being dispatched to convey Dan Jaggers to the lock-up, Jack
and Hal hurried away for some sort of a meal.  Eph Somers, being inside
the yard, and no one paying him any heed, that young man concluded
that he might as well remain where he could see the most.

While the two submarine boys were at breakfast a constable and a deputy
appeared at the hotel, to get precise directions as to where to find the
drugged Joshua Owen.  Then they departed in haste.

"There's the band playing over at the yard!" cried Hal, seated at the
hotel dining table.  "Great Scott!  We'll be late."

"I hardly see how that can happen," replied Jack.  "It isn't quite nine
o'clock yet."

Nevertheless, the martial strains caused both boys to hurry through
their breakfast.  Then, full of eagerness, they all but ran down the
short stretch of road to the yard.

"I wish we had a little better clothes," muttered Hal, regretfully, as
they neared the gate.

"What's the odds?" replied young Benson.  "We're workmen, anyway."

"But most folks will be dressed up mighty well to-day," objected Hal.
"Even Grant Andrews has his best suit on."

"Well, we haven't any other clothes," murmured Jack, like a young
philosopher.  "Folks won't be looking at us, anyway.  They'll all have
their eyes on the boat."

The watchman at the gate had been reinforced by another man, to hold
the crowd back.  When the would-be spectators found that only work men
and invited guests would be admitted to the yard the disappointed ones
made a scurry for the nearest portions of the shore outside the big
fence.

Inside, the noise of hammers had stopped.  The entire front of the
submarine's shed had been removed, and much of the underpinning structure
that held the "Pollard" in place.  All that remained, to send the steel
craft into the water, were the command and a few lusty sledgehammer
strokes.

The band was playing again, a lively strain.  Jacob Farnum was bustling
about, although, as far as could be seen, his only impulse was sheer
excitement.

David Pollard, silent and more anxious than anyone could know, stood
apart with Grant Andrews, while Eph Somers stood solitary at a little
distance.

Even the coming of the boys caused Pollard a bit of relief.  They were
to be of the crew at the launching, and their early arrival showed the
inventor that there ought not, now, to be the faintest hitch.

"I thought there was going to be a naval officer here, Mr. Pollard,"
whispered Jack.

"Looking for a uniform, eh?" laughed the inventor.  "There is a naval
officer here--Lieutenant Jackson.  There he is, over there, in the gray
suit and straw bat."

"Does he go on the boat with us?"

"Oh, no.  He's simply to watch the launching, and see how the craft sits
on the water after she goes in.  Some time in the near future there'll
be a board of naval officers here, when we're ready to show them what
the boat can do."

With everything in readiness, the nerves of all the interested persons
present began to suffer from the suspense.  Only the tireless band saved
the day.

"Come along," said Jacob Farnum, at last.  "It's a quarter of ten.  We'll
get up in our places."

Those who were going made a rush for the shed.  The band leader, catching
the enthusiasm, led his musicians, with a crash, into a triumphal march.
Eph Somers slid, unobtrusively, into the shed.  David Pollard turned to
look at him keenly.

"I want to be on hand to help just a bit, if I can," murmured Eph,
pleadingly, "and to wish the boat good luck as she strikes the water.
My father used to work in this yard, and I worked here last summer."

"He's all right," nodded Mr. Farnum, so Eph got inside the shed.

The ladder rested against the hull; this was to be the last time that
it would be used.  David Pollard ascended, first, to the submarine's
platform deck Farnum followed Then Grant Andrews went up.  Last of all
came Jack Benson and Hal Hastings.  These were all who were scheduled
to slide down the slippery ways with the "Pollard."  But Eph was there,
close at hand, consumed by an unquenchable desire to go, too.  Nor was
he wholly convinced that he wouldn't.

Outside, at one side of the shed, stood Lieutenant Jackson and the
invited guests.  On the other side were the members of the band.

On the platform deck, near the conning tower, were an outside steering
wheel and the engine controls.  Back of all were the funnels of the
ventilators.

"Are you going to take the wheel, sir?" whispered Grant Andrews, to
the inventor.

"I--I'm afraid I'm too nervous to," replied David Pollard, in an
undertone.  "You'd better take the wheel, Andrews."

So the foreman stationed himself there, for the craft might need guidance
during the headway that the launching would give her.

Pollard turned to the yard's owner, to whisper imploringly:

"Better give the word and start things, Farnum.  The suspense will floor
me if it lasts much longer."

So Farnum gave tho first signal, and the workmen below began their last
duties.  In a twinkling it was known that something was wrong with one
of the ways.  Grant Andrews moved quickly away from the wheel to look
below and give an order.

Jack Benson moved up to the wheel, that there might be someone there
in case the "Pollard" made an unexpected leap into the water.  In
the confusion, just as one of the workmen below was about to remove
the ladder, Eph Somers swiftly pushed it back against the hull, ascending
almost on the run to the platform deck, where he stood pointing out
to Andrews the cause of the trouble below.  As he did so, Eph slyly
but authoritatively signaled to the men to remove the ladder, which
was done.  Eph Somers had won his wish.  He was aboard--safe unless
someone discovered him at the last second and threw him over.

Now, with a fearful clattering, the last supports of the substructure
were knocked away by lustily wielded sledge-hammers.

The leader of the band, accustomed to launchings, held his baton aloft.
At the downward stroke of that implement the band would crash out into
"See, the Conquering Hero Comes!"

In the midst of the clatter another gang of workmen, at a silent signal,
began to push against the hull on either side.

Hats off, the men among the guests began to cheer, the women to wave
handkerchiefs.

Farnum was the coolest of all, now.  As the "Pollard" _might_ sink to
the bottom of the harbor, no woman was aboard to do the christening.
Instead, the yard owner clutched the bottle, ready to smash it over the
forward rail of the platform deck.

A creak, a yell, and the "Pollard" started.  How the cheering redoubled
and made the shed's rafters shake.  Lieutenant Jackson, of the Navy,
tried to look unconcerned, but he couldn't, wholly.  A launching of
any kind of important craft is a mighty exciting thing.

Jack's hands took firm clutch on the steering wheel.  He was throbbing
from head to foot.

Another creak!  The "Pollard" began to move in good earnest.  All on
the platform deck felt the exhilarating thrill of motion.

Down came the baton, the band crashed out, its music almost drowned by
the frantic cheers of the beholders.  Down off the ways shot the
submarine torpedo boat.  Oh, the glory of it!

There was a gigantic splash.  Everyone on the platform deck was,
drenched, yet holding on and happy.  For many rods out over the waters,
Jack steering straight and true, the boat dashed, then slowly stopped.
The "Pollard" was launched--for what adventures, what fate?




CHAPTER X

UNDER WATER, WHERE MEN'S NERVES ARE TRIED


After that first stop, after that first feeling of exhilaration was
over, the anxious thought of all on the platform deck was:

"Is there any fault in her construction?  Is she going to sink?"

Not that any of these six human beings would have been in much danger, for
all were where they could free themselves and swim.

It was the defeat of months of hopes that would have been terrible.

A few moments of tension, then David Pollard's gaze lighted on Eph
Somers, unconcernedly smiling.

"Hullo!" muttered the inventor.  "How do you happen on board?"

"Me?" grinned Eph.  "Why, you see, I'm the mascot."

But Jack Benson, fearful that, under the strain, something unpleasant
might be said to his newly-found friend, asked, quietly:

"Going to drop the anchor?"

Grant Andrews, Hal and Eph quickly attended to this.

The flag at the short pole had become wrapped around its short staff.
Jacob Farnum noted this just in time and hastily shook it out, for the
band had suddenly begun to play "_The Star Spangled Banner_," and on
shore the crowd was hushed, hats off and at attention.  On board the
submarine hats were quickly doffed, all turning with reverent gaze
toward the Flag!

For a long time the crowd on shore remained, staring with fascinated
gaze at the craft from which wonders were expected.  Presently a small
boat put off from shore.  Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard were taken off and
went ashore to talk over matters with Lieutenant Jackson.

The "Pollard" now sat jauntily on the water.  Only the upper two feet of
her oddly-shaped hull were out of water, neither the bow nor stern
showing.  In rough weather the platform deck would be a wet place,
indeed; but now, with little wind, and the water only slightly rippling,
the deck was drying rapidly under the glare of the hot summer sun.

"I guess we might as well go below and get on dry clothing," hinted
Grant Andrews.

"Is there any such thing aboard?" queried Jack, in surprise.

"Yes, thanks to Mr. Farnum's thoughtfulness.  Come on; I'll show you."

So the four piled below, and, in one of the state-rooms aft, Andrews
pointed to a goodly store of clothing, much more than would be needed
for the present, and of different sizes, even to shoes.  There were
also rough bath towels with which to rub down dry.

"I wonder do I come in on these?" murmured Eph, doubtfully.

"Well, since nothing has been said to the contrary," laughed Andrews,
quietly, "I think I'd be brave enough to try it.  You're surely as wet
as any of us."

The four were quickly in undershirts and linen.  But the outer suits
made the boys wonder a bit.  These suits were dark blue uniforms, the
coats braided, and the front buttons hidden by another band of braid.
The caps were of visored naval pattern.

"Say," asked Eph, looking about him, "I'm only a common sailor, at most.
Ain't there any common sailor togs lying about?"

"I don't know where," smiled Andrews.  "I judge, from the togs, that
we're all to be captains."

So Eph, with a comical sigh, fitted himself to a uniform and donned it.

"Maybe I'll have a chance to strut about in this for an hour, until the
owner comes aboard and throws me into the water, after stripping me,"
murmured Eph, wistfully.

Then, as young Somers caught a glimpse of himself in one of the state-room
mirrors, he stood up unaccountably straight, inflating his chest and
bulging it out.

They had to go up on deck again.  It all seemed so much like a dream
that all hands wanted to get up where they could stare at the hull, the
water and at anything else that could make them realize that the
"Pollard" was launched and they were aboard.

A boat-load of men soon put out.

"They're special workmen, coming to finish up on the air-compressors,"
explained Grant Andrews.  "We have nothing to do with their work.  All
we've got to do is to take things easily for the present."

"I'm going to get busy, if they'll let me help at anything," declared
Eph.  "When the two bosses come aboard I'm mighty anxious to have them
think I look natural here."

"Are you going to try to join the crew, Eph?" asked Jack, in an undertone.

"Well, I'm not going to be put ashore, except by force," declared young
Somers, wistfully.  "I've been dreaming about this old boat for three
months back.  Say, I'd give anything I had, even if it was a lot, to
stay aboard this craft for good and all."

"I know how you feel," nodded Jack Benson.  "And I don't blame you.
It's going to be a grand old life, and, Eph, I hope you're to be in it."

As soon as the special workmen were aboard Eph followed them below.  He
hung about until he saw a chance to help, then joined in the work.  He
was as industrious as the proverbial beaver when Messrs. Farnum and
Pollard at last came aboard and went below.

"Hm!  Does that new boy figure that he belongs aboard with us?" asked
David Pollard, of Jack, when the pair came on deck again.

"He's frightfully anxious to be of the crew, sir," Benson answered.
"And he seems like a splendid fellow."

"We might as well let him stay aboard, Dave," proposed Mr. Farnum.  "He's
a good, straightforward young chap, and comes of good water stock.  I
know what it is to be a youngster and to have ambitions."

"All right, then," nodded the inventor.  "Let him stay.  I dare say we
can use his time."

"May I, as a great favor, go below and tell him he may stay?" asked Jack,
eagerly.

"Why, you seem to take a personal interest in young Somers," laughed the
yard's owner.

"I do.  And he was useful in your interests this morning, Mr. Farnum."

"Run along and tell him, then," nodded the yard's owner.

When Eph heard the news he stopped work long enough to dance an exultant
jig on the cabin floor.

"Oh, Jack Benson, if ever you want a favor--a great, big one, with
trimmings--come to me!" begged young Somers, imploringly as soon as
he caught his breath again.

Then, to keep his rising spirits down, Eph returned, to work as soberly
as he could.

Later Grant Andrews, with Eph's help, cooked a meal at the galley fire,
and this all hands ate while the special workmen kept at their task.

When they were on deck again Mr. Pollard said, in a low voice:

"Boys, I may as well tell you what Mr. Andrews already knows.  Work on
the interior of this boat is much further along than we've allowed to
leak out.  In fact, when the men below finish with the air-compressors,
in a few hours, we're all ready to put out to sea on a stealthy trial
trip of our own."

"Wow!" sputtered Eph, enthusiastically.

"Now," continued Mr. Pollard, earnestly, "of course we believe most
thoroughly in this boat, but, until the actual trial is made, we don't
know how she'll behave.  If any of you feel like backing out, why, go
ashore before we start, but keep your tongues behind your teeth."

"Reminds me of what my Dad once did in the hen-yard," remarked Eph,
in a low voice.  "He went out with a couple of quarts of corn, looked
at the hens, and said: 'Now, biddies, I'm going to toss your supper
down.  But any of you critters that want can go in and roost for the
night before I do it.'"

"Well?" asked David Pollard, a bit puzzled.

"Would you believe it?" asked Eph, with a comical twist of his mouth,
"Every blessed hen stayed.  Fact, sir!"

Just before dark the special workmen went ashore.  Again Andrews and Eph
prepared a meal, which was eaten.

Then followed a restless two hours, waiting until the town was asleep,
for the gasoline tanks were filled, and all was ready for the first turn
of the drive-wheel below.

It was after half-past ten when Pollard at last said:

"Go below and get the gasoline engines started, Andrews."

The boys followed him below to watch the work.  Messrs.  Farnum and
Pollard, too, were soon below, for they wanted to observe the work of
the air compressors and the dynamos.  The work had to be started by
lantern light, but, within ten minutes, it was possible to turn on
electric lights below.

"Everything is working as perfectly as though the boat had been in
commission a year," remarked the inventor, hoarsely.  His suspense was
almost painful to watch.

"Everything is all ready for a start, isn't it.  Andrews?" inquired
Mr. Farnum.

"Everything appears to be, sir, so far as the power's concerned,"
replied Andrews.  "But I'm going to stay by the engine.  I want to be
on hand to watch whatever might happen."

Power was applied to raise the anchor.

"You take the wheel, Benson, since you had it during the launching,"
said the yard's owner.  "Somers, stand by on deck.  Hastings, you
go below and stand with Mr. Andrews."

"Give the go-ahead at slow speed," directed David Pollard, nervously.

So Jack gave the speed wheel a small turn, then rested both hands
on the steering wheel.  Without an unnecessary sound, and with no
outer lights showing, as yet, the "Pollard" was headed for the mouth
of the little harbor, Mr. Farnum standing by as pilot.

Just as they passed out on to the