“We’ll be safe, then,” nodded Eph, sagely.  “I surely do want to stretch my legs, and take a yawn or two where a sea-gull won’t flap down my throat.”

Of course, the idea of going on shore really appealed to all hands.  So, half an hour later, a shore boat put off with them all, leaving Grant and his men still in charge.

“I wonder what the next test is going to be?” asked Jack.

“I shall have to refer you to the members of the naval board, and they won’t tell until this evening,” replied Mr. Farnum.  “That’s one of their rules—­no news until the evening before.  That prevents too much time being spent in preparation.  One of the objects of these tests is to find out how well the different types of submarines can do things on short notice.”

“That’s right,” nodded Captain Jack, thoughtfully.  “Really, when you come to think of it, submarine torpedo boats are short notice craft anyway.”

“And, best of all, with no notice whatever to the enemy,” broke in Eph.  “In future wars it’s going to give a good deal of comfort to a fellow to think that he serves on a submarine, instead of on a battleship.”

“Where are you going to stop on shore, Jake?” inquired Pollard.

“At the Somerset,” responded Mr. Farnum.

“Then we’re likely to run into that Rhinds-Radwin crowd.”

“We can stand it, if they can,” replied Farnum, compressing his lips grimly.  “Our consciences are cleaner than theirs.”

Indeed, in passing from the lobby to the breakfast room, where the Pollard party intended to take coffee, Messrs. Rhinds and Radwin were encountered just as they were coming out.

“Ah, good morning, gentlemen,” hailed John C. Rhinds, halting and holding out his hand.  Fred Radwin, too, beamed cordially upon the enemy.

“’Morning,” replied Jacob Farnum, ignoring the outstretched hand of Rhinds.  Radwin’s ready-made smile, too, was overlooked, as the Pollard submarine party filed by into the breakfast room.

“I don’t believe they’ll waste any make-believe cordiality on us, after that,” grimaced Mr. Pollard, as he dropped into a chair at a table.

Fifteen minutes later a stout, rather short, middle-aged man entered the breakfast room in haste.  He spoke to the head waiter, who pointed out the table at which the submarine party sat.

Then the head waiter came over with a card and a letter which he handed to Farnum.

“‘Mr. Walter C. Hodges,’” read Farnum, from the card.  Then, glancing at the envelope “‘Introducing Mr. Hodges.’  It’s from Judson, proprietor of the hotel where I stop when in Washington,” continued the shipbuilder, as he glanced through the letter.  “He asks me to extend any possible courtesies to Mr. and Miss Hodges, for whom he vouches cordially.”

Rising, Mr. Farnum stepped over to meet Mr. Hodges, shaking hands with the stranger.  Then the pair walked back to the table.  Farnum quickly presented Mr. Hodges to the others.