“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.”