“What do you know about that?” gasped Ted, turning to his old school pal.  The boys were keyed to a high pitch by this time as a result of their first experience in a deep-sea dive.  So tense were they with excitement that they marveled at the care-free attitude of the crew.  Some of them were humming nonchalantly; others chatting and laughing as though on an excursion on a river steamboat.

“What do you feel like, chum?” began Ted, as the two settled into a conversation over their wonderful exploit.

“Well, I’ve been up in the tower of the Woolworth Building and down in a coal mine and up in a Ferris wheel and once I had a ride with Uncle Jim in the cab of a locomotive—–­but this beats anything I ever had anything to do with!” exclaimed Jack, all in one breath.

Ted was gulping a bit.  “I feel as though I had left my heart and stomach up there on top of the ocean,” he stammered.

Bill Witt grinned from ear to ear; the remark was reminiscent of other “rookies” and their first experiences at sea.

“You’ll probably think you’ve completely lost some parts of your department of internal affairs before you get rightly acquainted with your new friend Mr. Neptune,” offered Bill by way of a gentle reminder.

So far the new members of the Dewey’s crew had been unaffected by the terrors of seasickness.  Bill’s remark drove the import of it home pretty hard.  “I hope, if we are going to get it,” interjected Ted philosophically, “we get it soon and get over with it.”

They had little time to ponder over the possibilities of gastronomic disturbances, for there was much going on that occupied their attention.  The Dewey was now running entirely submerged, testing out her electric batteries.

“How do they steer the vessel down here under the sea?” asked Jack.

“By the gyrocompass,” answered Bill Witt, pointing to where Executive Officer Binns and Commander McClure stood in the conning tower.  “We are running blind down here, except that the skipper knows from his compass which direction we are going, and he has charts that tell him the depth of the sea at this point.  They know the longitude and latitude and can easily determine on their maps and charts just where we are.”

“How deep down can we go?” inquired Ted.

“Most of the boats have to be tested at a depth of two hundred feet before they are accepted by the government from the builders,” replied Bill.  “But you can bet your life we don’t often go down that far.  When we do, the water is oozing through the thin steel hull and dropping in globules from the sides and top of the vessel.  From sixty to a hundred feet is our average plunge.”

Even at that moment the boys noticed that the Dewey was “sweating” a little bit, the vaulted steel above them, coated with a composition that contained cork, being dotted here and there with drops of water.  Jack craned his neck to look at the depth dial and noted the indicator hand was pointing at seventy-two feet.