“Mr. Farnum sent the boat out, to see if you young men want to go ashore,” announced a voice from above.

Within two minutes the three submarine boys were making for the shore.  After reporting at the office of the yard, and finding that Mr. Farnum would not want them again that afternoon, the young cronies sauntered off up into the village.  At Jack’s suggestion they talked no more about the Melvilles for the present.  Yet each felt as though a lump of lead lay against his heart.

Though they tried to enjoy themselves in the village, there was too great a weight of dread upon them.  It began to look as though all the pleasure of their recent life must fade.  Though Don Melville, if he secured command of the “Pollard,” might tolerate them aboard, all three knew that they would feel the burden of his cool contempt for them as inferiors.  Listlessly, at last, the three submarine boys turned back toward the yard, went aboard, cooked a supper for which they had no appetite, and then waited for turning-in time.

In the next few days there were many signs that Melville intended to find and supply the desired capital for the promotion of the yard’s business.  Don and his father were much about the place, though they rarely came out to the “Pollard.”  Business friends of Mr. Melville’s also appeared.  Finally there came an important looking lawyer and an expert accountant.

“I reckon it’s all settled except the signing of the papers,” ventured Hal Hastings.

“The toe of the boot for ours, then, or as bad,” murmured Eph Somers sardonically.

During these days David Pollard, the inventor who had made this splendid type of submarine boat possible, did not appear.  For one thing, he was away in secret, pondering over the invention of further appliances to be tried out on the boat now building.  More than that, David Pollard, shy and with no head for affairs, entrusted all new business arrangements to Jacob Farnum, who, he felt sure, could be trusted with a friend’s interests.

“It’s tough to be poor,” grimaced Hal Hastings.  “If I had the money, I’d put it into the business for the sake of keeping my berth aboard, and having things as pleasant as we’ve had ’em all along.”

“So would I,” grunted Eph.  “But what’s the use of talking, when this is all the capitalist that I am?”

He took out four paper dollars, passing them ruefully between his fingers.

“Why don’t you say something, Jack?” demanded Hal.  “Dry of words, for once?”

“I’m thinking,” responded young Benson, absently.

“Well, it’s a sure thing that thinking does less harm than talking,” nodded Hal.

“But when a fellow’s silent he can’t spit out all that’s boiling inside of him,” snorted Eph Somers.

“I’m getting ready to talk presently,” smiled Captain Jack.

“If it’s anything strong, say it now,” begged Eph.

The three boys were sitting about the cabin table.  Eph sat with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, his eyes glaring defiantly at the wall opposite.  Hal, rather listless, sat low in his chair, his feet well under the table, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.  Jack sat leaning slightly forward, his left hand tapping lightly against the polished surface of the table.