“Partly on account of your attitude toward these boys,” admitted Mr. Farnum, “and also because Pollard and I now realize that you had intended to wrest control of this business from us.”

“You’re losing your senses,” Stormed the capitalist, angrily.  “Unless you at once come to a realization of it, all we can do is to wish you good morning.”

Mr. Farnum bowed, silently, then moved toward the office door, opening it.

“Come on, gentlemen,” cried Melville, stiffly, turning toward his own friends.

In silence the members of that group started across the floor.  Mr. Farnum, surveying them inscrutably, still held the door open.

“This is dramatic—­and suicidal,” said Mr. Melville, haughtily.

“You take it too seriously,” replied the boatbuilder, with a slight smile.  “It is only good morning.”

“You’re a fool, Farnum!” came the answer as Mr. Melville, in a rage, halted just inside the door.  “And I warn you that, if we leave here, now, we shall not return, no matter how changed your attitude may become later.  Have you any answer to that, sir?”

“Good morning,” replied Jacob Farnum, with another courteous bow.

Stiffly, snorting but without words, George Melville walked out of the office, across the outer office, and out into the yard.

In the private office the three submarine boys stood as though riveted to the floor.  They were astounded, and knew not what to say.  They were overjoyed, but incapable of expressing any word of the gratitude that filled their young hearts.

David Pollard walked to a chair, dropping into it and studying the ceiling.

As for the boatbuilder, he stepped briskly across the room, pulling open the door of a cupboard.  Taking out a broom, he began to sweep very carefully where the Melville group had sat or stood, and continued his sweeping across the threshold of the doorway.  Then, returning, he tossed the broom into the cupboard.  Stepping springily over, he dropped into his desk chair, letting out a hearty laugh.

“Well, that’s over with, and a narrow escape,” he announced.

“But you couldn’t quite sweep all their dirt out after them,” declared David Pollard, looking up with a smile.

“What do you think of that crowd, boys?” asked Jacob Farnum, cheerily.

“I’m not giving much thought to them, sir,” Jack replied, adding warmly:  “But we fellows, Mr. Farnum, simply can’t think of words that will express how we appreciate the splendid way Mr. Pollard and yourself have stood up for us.”

Jacob Farnum eyed the boys quizzically, then turned to the young captain of the submarine to inquire: 

“Wouldn’t you stand by me in anything?  Wouldn’t you yell for this yard and its product with your last gasp?  Answer me.”

“Why, of course we would,” Jack Benson admitted.

“Then I take just offense, if you expect me to be any less of a man than yourself,” declared Farnum, with a pretense of anger.