“Hal isn’t any too sure,” muttered David Pollard, restlessly.  “Neither am I. Jake, we have a strong fight to make to-day.  Somehow, Rhinds has managed to put a pretty lively engine in that boat of his.  I had an idea she’d be two or three miles an hour slower.”

“Probably we haven’t been shown anything like the ‘Zelda’s’ best speed, yet,” replied Farnum, moodily.

Building and trying out submarine torpedo boats is the kind of work to make many a man’s hair turn prematurely white.  As success depends solely upon actual showings made, the anxiety of any builder during a series of competitive tests in which several makes of boat are entered can be easily understood.

Messrs. Farnum and Pollard were plainly on tenterhooks that day.  They might well be.  Should the Rhinds boat carry away the honors on that day and on the subsequent days of the present tests, then Farnum and Pollard, who had their entire fortunes invested in this business, would have on their hands only so much scrap steel, brass and iron.

Nor would Jack and his comrades fare any better.  If the boys were vanquished, Farnum and Pollard would have no more work for them.  No other submarine company would want the services of losers.

“Keep your nerve to-day, won’t you, Benson?” asked Lieutenant Danvers, in a low tone.

“Why?” queried Jack, with the ghost of a smile, as he glanced into the naval officer’s face.  “Have I been showing any nervousness?”

“Not yet, and I don’t want you to.”

“Are you as interested as that in us, Mr. Danvers?”

“I like you, Benson—­like you from the deck up, and I don’t want to see you lose a single point in the game.  That’s all.”

Eph Somers came on deck, presently.

“Hal says he doesn’t need me below for the present, Jack, so I came up to relieve you at the wheel.  I don’t want to see your steering wrist going stale when the race starts, so you’d better let me have the wheel, while you keep yourself fresh for the real work.”

“As the race hasn’t begun yet,” broke in Lieutenant Danvers, “there is no impropriety in my taking the wheel out to the start, if you’ll trust me to handle your boat.”

“Trust a naval officer?” laughed Jack Benson, flashing a smile of gratitude at the lieutenant.  “That’s a funny idea to suggest.”

Danvers took the wheel silently, then devoted his whole thought, apparently, to the—­for him—­simple task that he had in hand.

Outside the bay the “Chelsea” signaled to the submarine boats to slow up.  Then the gunboat moved over to temporary anchorage.  A line between the gunboat’s bow and the lighthouse on Groton Point, to the northward, was to furnish the imaginary starting line.  This line the five competing submarine torpedo boats must, at second gunfire, cross as nearly together as possible.  There were penalties, of course, for any one boat trying to steal a lead over the rest.