“The young man acts as though he had been struck on the head,” was the physician’s verdict.  “No bones of the skull are broken.  The odor of liquor is on his coat, but I can’t seem to detect any on the breath.”

“Of course you can’t,” commented Jacob Farnum, crisply.  “Will Benson be fit to sail in the morning?”

“I think so,” nodded the doctor.  “But there ought to be a nurse with him to-night.”

“Take my car, Andrews, and get a man nurse at once,” directed Mr. Farnum.  “Doctor, can the young man be moved to his berth on the ’Farnum’?”

“Safely enough,” nodded the medical man.  They waited until the nurse arrived, when Jack was put to bed on the newer submarine craft.

Jack slept through the night, moaning once in a while.  Mr. Farnum and the Dunhaven doctor were aboard early to look at him.  The surgeon from the “Hudson” also came over.

Under the effects of medicine Jack Benson was asleep when, at ten o’clock that morning, the two submarine torpedo boats slipped their moorings, following the “parent boat,” the “Hudson,” out of the harbor.

Ten minutes later the motion of the sea awoke the young skipper.

CHAPTER V

TRUAX SHOWS THE SULKS

“Hullo!” muttered the young submarine skipper, staring curiously about the little stateroom aft.  He had it to himself, the nurse having been put on shore.  “Under way, eh?  This is the queerest start I ever made on a voyage.”

Nor was it many moments later when Jack Benson stood on his feet.  His clothes were hung neatly on nails against the wall.  One after another Jack secured the garments, slowly donning them.

“How my head throbs and buzzes!” he muttered, his voice sounding unsteady.  “Gracious!  What could have happened?  Let me see.  The last I remember—­passing that high fence—­”

But it was all too great a puzzle.  Benson finally decided to stop guessing until some future time.  He went on with his dressing.  Finally, with his blouse buttoned as exactly as ever, and his cap placed gingerly on his aching head, he opened the stateroom door, stepping out into the cabin.

Accustomed as he was to sea motion, the slight roll of the “Farnum” did not bother the young skipper much.  He soon reached the bottom of the short spiral stairway leading up into the conning tower.  Up there, in the helmsman’s seat, he espied Hal Hastings with his hands employed at t he steering apparatus.  Hal was looking out over the water, straight ahead.

“Sailing these days without word from your captain, eh?” Jack called, in a voice that carried, though it shook.

“Gracious—­you?” ejaculated Hal, looking down for an instant.  Then Hastings pressed a button connecting with a bell in the engine room.

“I’m going up there with you,” Jack volunteered.

“Right-o, if you insist,” clicked Eph Somers, appearing from the engine room and darting to the young skipper’s side.  True, Jack’s head swam a bit dizzily as he climbed the stairs, but Eph’s strong support made the task much easier.  There was space to spare on the seat beside Hal, and into this Jack Benson sank.