With another impatient frown Mr. Melville held his watch out before Mr. Farnum’s eyes.  That younger man hardly saw the dial.  He was looking past, out beyond the mouth of the little cove or harbor.  As he did so, Mr. Farnum beheld what, at first, looked like a big ripple spreading over the placid water.  Then the top of a steel conning tower shot up into sight.  It was followed by the emergence of the upper hull of a strange looking cigar-shaped craft.

“Two minutes before the hour, did you say?” asked Jacob Farnum, placidly.  “Well, there’s the ‘Pollard,’ just up from the depths, and gliding in to anchorage.”

Don Melville had strolled away from the pair, but now, at a call from his father, he turned to watch the oncoming craft, which was none other than the new submarine torpedo boat, the “Pollard.”

The elder Melville was judge enough of boats and of boat-handling to understand that the submarine was being brought into harbor in a very clever, seamanlike manner.

“She’s still running under electric power, you know,” explained Mr. Farnum.  “The distance is so short that Captain Benson doesn’t consider it worth while to start the gasoline engine.”

Now, the boat came to a stop, with a slight reversing of her propellers.  At this moment the manhole cover of the conning tower was raised.  Out onto the platform deck surrounding the tower Captain Jack Benson nimbly stepped.  As he took the wheel in the open, the craft glided on with hardly perceptible motion to a mooring buoy a few yards distant.  Out hopped another boy, in dark blue naval uniform and visored cap.  This youth, Eph Somers, ran nimbly forward over the hull.  At just the right instant Eph bent over, securing the forward tackle to the buoy, then straightened up, saluting the young captain, as he called: 

“Single tackle all fast, sir.”

Now, a third boy, in uniform similar to those worn by the other two, sprang out through the manhole.  Hal Hastings, who had remained behind to shut off the electric motor, waved his cap to Mr. Farnum.

“Well done, Captain Benson and crew!” shouted Jacob Farnum, heartily, across the water.

“It won’t take you long to be able to beat that performance, I take it, Don,” smiled the elder Melville at his Son.  Don’s upper lip curled just perceptibly.  Jacob Farnum frowned slightly, as he turned his face away.  It would not do to offend George Melville without cause, for that gentleman was considering the raising of six or seven hundred thousand dollars of additional working capital for the making of submarine boats.

“We’re coming aboard, captain,” added Mr. Farnum, shouting between his hands, across the water.  “Everything ship-shape for inspection?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Captain Jack responded.

“It was a shame, really, to ask that question,” laughed Mr. Farnum, turning to his companions.  “Benson was all but born aboard a boat, and he’s a genuine old maid for having things aboard in apple-pie order.  His two friends are just like him in that respect.”