Chapter 7 MISSING-A SUBMARINE AND CREW

Fifteen minutes more dragged by.

"Where's your show, Mr. Farnum?"

"Something has gone wrong, eh?"

The correspondents were pressing about the worried builder and the uneasy inventor.

"There's a tragedy going on over there, isn't there?" demanded another journalist, pointing out across the water.

"I-I'm afraid there is a chance of it," nodded Mr. Farnum, dejectedly, again looking at the watch in his hand. "It's getting on toward an hour since the 'Pollard' went down."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Is there no way to rescue the crew?"

"Don't let those boys die, without lifting a finger to save them."

"Get busy, man-in heaven's name, get busy!"

Such were the comments, questions and advice that poured in on the builder. David Pollard, his sensitive nature suffering extremely, shrank back out of the crowd.

"Gentlemen-and ladies, too-don't you understand that nothing really can be done-at least not in a rush?" cried Jacob Farnum, the cold sweat standing out on his face. "There isn't a diver in or near Dunhaven, and that unfortunate boat is down in seventy feet of water. I'm going to rush a wire to the nearest place where I know a diver to be, but I-I am certain that it will be hours before we can hope to have one here. That is all-all that can possibly be done."

"Oh, this is dreadful!" sobbed one of the women writers. "Those brave, splendid boys-such a fearful fate!"

"Must they be asphyxiated down there, below?" cried another woman.

"Don't," choked Jacob Farnum. "I must rush for the telegraph station and get off a message for a diver-also for a wrecking company to send tugs and floats here for raising the 'Pollard.' Yet it will take a wretchedly long time."

"And the boys? Rescue will come too late to save them?" asked a newspaper man, with a decided choke in his voice.

Jacob Farnum made a wild dash for his office, telephoning for a messenger boy. While waiting he wrote two telegrams in feverish haste.

Several of the newspaper people wrote hasty, excited dispatches to their papers for the evening editions. The messenger boy, when he arrived on a run, was all but loaded down with paper. Then the yard's owner and the newspaper folks dashed back to the shore.

Out on the harbor the water lay unruffled. There was not a sign of the suspected tragedy that lay beneath the waves.

"It's an hour and a half since the boat sank," called one of the correspondents.

"What were the boys supposed to do, anyway?" insisted another.

Jacob Farnum opened his mouth, as though to speak, then closed it again.

"Tell us," insisted one woman.

"Yes, tell us," insisted a man.

Just then, there came a shout over the waters. "Say, you lubbers, what did you move that boat for?"

There was an instant gasp from all who turned so swiftly to look out over the water.

Only Jack Benson's brown-haired head showed above the surface of the harbor, but his look was laughing, utterly care-free.

The boatmen who had allowed their craft to drift while waiting, now thrust out their oars, making quick time to where the submarine boy stood treading water.

In his sudden revulsion of feeling the inventor all but fainted. Jacob Farnum, his gnawing suspense over, felt as though his knees must give way under him. Then, by a mighty effort, just as the deafening cheering started, he led the race around the harbor.

"Here, you-Jack Benson!" gasped the yard's owner. "You come in here mighty quick! Give an account of yourself. What was wrong below?"

"Wrong?" hailed back Benson, standing in the bow of the shore boat as it made for shore.

"What were you doing down below, all this time?" demanded Mr. Farnum.

"Doing? Oh, Eph was taking a nap-"

"Taking a nap?"

"Hal was tinkering with the gasoline motor, and I was reading."

"Reading?" fumed Mr. Farnum. "What were you trying to do? Torment the life out of us?"

"Were any of you folks worried?" asked Jack, smiling innocently at the excited crowd.

"Worried?" ejaculated the boatbuilder. "I've telegraphed for a diver and a wrecking company's outfit."

"Better countermand the order, air," advised Jack, dryly.

"But what on earth caused all the delay? What did it mean?" persisted the boatbuilder. "Answer me, Benson."

"Why," laughed Jack, "when we started, I dropped a word or two about trying to make the exhibition dramatic, didn't I?"

"If that's what you tried to do, young man," grunted one of the correspondents, "you've certainly succeeded. Why, in five or ten minutes more the evening papers in half a dozen cities will have extras out announcing that one more big submarine boat disaster has occurred!"

"Did you really send that to your papers?" asked Jack Benson, some of his glee showing.

"Of course we did."

"And that reminds me," shouted another. "We've got to send the follow-up news, at once. I have, anyway."

That roused the newspaper people to a sense of what they were there for, though one man broke in:

"Just a second, folks! Let's find out what the show was intended for."

"Why, it's intended to show," replied Jack, "that a boat built and equipped like the 'Pollard' isn't a death-trap for the crew, if it should happen, through some accident, that the boat refuses to rise to the surface."

"That's the trick," confirmed Mr. Farnum. "But, Jack, why did you wait so long before coming up."

"So that you could all realize something of the anxiety of people over such accidents to submarines, and the great dread over the fate of the crew," laughed the boy. "I think our delay made you all realize something of that."

"You have something of the dramatic instinct, truly," murmured the newspaper woman who had sobbed. "You had us all scared nearly to the fainting point."

"Now," continued Captain Jack, "just to show you that the boat didn't get disabled in any way, I'm going down again and then come up with the boat."

"It won't take you as long as it did this last time, will it?" demanded one of the reporters.

"Wait right where you are," promised Jack Benson, "and you'll see me once more before you've really had time to realize it."

"No more dramatic business, eh, and needless tears on our part?" insisted another.

"This time," laughed Jack, "the dramatic will be confined to speed of operation."

He motioned to the men to row out. Jack calculated, finely, just where he had come up, and there the heavy anchor was dropped, the end of the cable being made fast in the boat.

Then overboard dived the submarine captain, going straight down. A tug at the line showed when he seized hold of it, down in the depths.

A little time passed, but now the newspaper folks, accustomed to all manner of sensations, were not apprehensive.

"Here she comes!" shouted David Pollard, gleefully.

More and mote of the conning tower showed above the water, the platform deck and hull coming next into view. Then, as the manhole cover was raised, Eph Somers stepped into view at the steering wheel. The "Pollard" moved over to her moorings, and Hal came up to aid in making fast. Soon afterward, Jack Benson, in complete uniform, appeared on deck.

"Now, give us just an idea of how the thing is done, Mr. Farnum," begged one of the correspondents, turning to the boatbuilder.

"Ladies and gentlemen," replied the yard's owner, gravely, though he was tempted to laugh over the mystery he was making, "I am certain that you all want to know."

"We do," came the chorused answer.

"But if I were to tell you," responded Farnum, speaking as gravely as ever, "it would be to reveal to the whole world one of the strongest points in our plan of submarine operation. You will understand that, of course, and will realize that we do not care to explain anything so valuable, when that idea is not yet patented."

"I suppose you're right about that," admitted one of the journalists, thoughtfully. "We'd like awfully to know just how the feat is accomplished, and you have equally good reasons for not telling us."

"Have you much genius for machinery?" whispered one of the women writers to a man beside her. "For, you know, we've been promised a chance to visit the boat. If you keep your eyes open, very likely you can detect how it is possible to leave the 'Pollard' when she's on the bottom-a performance that isn't possible with any other type of submarine torpedo boat."

Jacob Farnum now slipped away to countermand his orders for a diver and wrecking apparatus, the newspaper people also seizing the chance to send another wire to their home newspapers.

After that Captain Jack received one-third of the party aboard the "Pollard." He gave them a short trip on the surface. Then, pressed to do so, he submerged the boat for two minutes. After that the rest of the correspondents were taken out and below the water. Most people are not particularly eager, at first, for a trip under the water in submarine boats, but with the newspaper fraternity it is different. They are always on the lookout for any new experience, no matter how dangerous it may seem to be. It is a part of their calling.

Yet not one in all this party of thirty trained, keen-minded people managed to penetrate the secret of how Captain Jack had been able to leave and return to the "Pollard" while that craft lay on the bottom of the harbor.

When all had visited the boat, and had sunk with her, Jacob Farnum took the party in carriages to his home, where luncheon was served. The boatbuilder, by the use of all his tact, kept the party together until it was time, to drive them to the railway station and see them aboard the train.

In this way, he prevented any of his visitors from falling into the hands of the Melville people. Consequently, when the next day's papers appeared there was much in them about the wonderful work done by Captain Jack Benson in a "Pollard" submarine, but there was not even as much as a mention of the fact that any rival submarine boatyard existed in Dunhaven.

"That is one long march stolen on the Melville foes," laughed Jacob Farnum to Benson. "It has been a splendid bit of business, Jack, and you boys have helped it all through in great fashion. To-day, we have the satisfaction of knowing that people all through the country are talking about the 'Pollard.'"

"That fellow Benson is being a lot talked about to-day," declared Mr.

Melville, after scanning two or three of the morning papers.

"Humph! Let him be talked about," returned Don, with a lowering scowl.

"I suppose he's pretty conceited to-day, but it won't be long before I'll

have it fixed so that his pride shall go down lower than ever the

'Pollard' could sink."

"Will you use our submarine boat to do it?" inquired the elder Melville, with a meaning smile.