“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.