CHAPTER IX

A RASCALLY PIECE OF WORK

“Now, we shall soon know!” cried David Pollard, hoarsely.

He was trembling with the fever of the intense inventor.

Out in the little harbor the “Pollard” lay on the bottom.  In the cabin, besides the three submarine boys, were only Jacob Farnum and David Pollard.

The eyes of all five were fixed on a small but ingenious bit of mechanism that had been carefully adjusted near the rear port of the boat’s torpedo tube.  This was the automatic device, first planned by Jack Benson, with the aid of his mates, and carried forward to working order by Mr. Pollard.  By the aid of this automatic mechanism it was believed that the last man aboard a torpedo boat could let himself into the tube, relying upon the automatic device first to close the rear port, then opening the forward port and at the same time letting just the right amount of compressed air into the tube.  By this means the last man aboard a submarine below the surface could provide for his own escape, without the aid of a comrade.

Eph Somers had been chosen to make the effort.  He now stood, in his bathing suit, awaiting the word.

“Go ahead, Eph,” ordered Mr. Farnum.  “Be very careful to set the device just right.  Not one of us is going to touch it.”

Eph carefully set the time hand on the dial, next crawled into the torpedo tube, the rear port of which stood open.  Sixty seconds later the automatic device closed the rear port with a sharp click.

David Pollard counted up to fifteen.

“He must have had time to get clear of the boat,” quivered the inventor.  “Now, captain, take us to the surface.”

In a twinkling, almost, the “Pollard” was riding the waves.

“There’s Eph, dancing up and down on the beach,” reported Captain Jack, from the conning tower.

“It worked like a charm,” chuckled Eph Somers, gleefully, as soon as the others had joined him on shore.  “That little charge of compressed air shot me out of the tube, and up I bounded to the surface, like a piece of cork.”

“Now, we really lead the whole world in submarine boating,” cried Mr. Farnum, hoarsely.  “I don’t care what any other inventor may have discovered, I’m satisfied that no one else can a boat as safe for the crew as the good little old ‘Pollard’ is!”

So happy did all of the five feel, in fact, that they shook hands gleefully, all around.  Then, while Eph rowed out to the craft to dry himself and get into uniform, Jacob Farnum ran to the machine shops, there sounding several sharp, triumphant blasts on the steam whistle.

The whole affair—­Eph’s escape to the surface, the joy of the submarine, party and the blowing of the whistle, were all noted by a spy whom Don Melville had set to the task of watching the Farnum crowd.

Don was equally well aware that David Pollard had been working day and night in his room at Mr. Farnum’s house.