“Let’s take a walk about the old town, then,” Hal suggested.

So the three submarine boys strolled across the shipyard.  Just as they were passing through the gate a man of middle height and seemingly about thirty years of age quickened his pace to reach them.

“Is this shipyard open nights?” he queried.

“Only to some employees,” Jack answered.

“I suppose Mr. Farnum isn’t about?”

“No.”

“Captain Benson?”

“Benson is my name.”

“This letter is addressed to Mr. Farnum,” went on the stranger, “but Mr. Pollard told me I could hand it to you.”

Captain Jack took the letter from the unsealed envelope.

“My dear Farnum,” ran the enclosure, “since you’re short a good machinist for the engine room of the ‘Farnum,’ the bearer, Samuel Truax, seems to me to be just the man you want.  I’ve examined him, and he understands the sort of machinery we use.  Better give him a chance.”  The note was signed in David Pollard’s well-known, scrawly handwriting.

“I’m sorry you can’t see Mr. Farnum tonight,” said Benson, pleasantly.  “He’ll be here early in the morning, though.”

“When do you sail?” asked Truax, quickly.

“That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too,” smiled Jack.

“But, see here, Mr. Pollard engaged me to work aboard one of your submarines.”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” laughed the young skipper.

“And you’re the captain?”

“Yes; but I can’t undertake to handle Mr. Farnum’s business for him.”

“You’ll let me go aboard the craft to sleep for to-night, anyway?” coaxed Truax.

“Why, that’s just what I’m not at liberty to do,” replied the young submarine captain.  “No; I couldn’t think of that, in the absence of Mr. Farnum’s order.”

“But that doesn’t seem hardly fair,” protested Truax.  “See here, I have spent all my money getting here.  I haven’t even the price of a lodging with me, and this isn’t a summer night.”

“Why, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Benson went on, feeling in one of his pockets.  “Here’s a dollar.  That’ll buy you a bed and a breakfast at the hotel up the street.  If you want to get aboard with us in time, you’d better show up by eight in the morning.”

“But—­”

“That’s really all I can do,” Jack Benson hastily assured the fellow.  “I’m not the owner of the boat, and I can’t take any liberties.  Oh, wait just a moment.  I’ll see if there’s any chance of Mr. Farnum coming back to night.”

Jack knew well enough that there wasn’t any chance of Mr. Farnum returning, unless possibly at a very late hour with the naval officers, but the boy had seen the night watchman peering out through the gateway.

Retracing his steps, Jack drew the night watchman inside, whispering: 

“Just a pointer for you.  You’ve seen that man on the street with us?  He has a letter from Mr. Pollard to Mr. Farnum, but I wouldn’t let him in the yard to-night, unless Mr. Farnum appears and gives the order.”