At this moment the outer door shot open with a bang.  Hal looked out into the corridor to see what had caused the disturbance.

“Look a-here!” sounded the voice of machinist Williamson, in an injured tone.  “Here I am, looking about for a quiet place for a five minutes’ smoke.  Captain Benson sends me out to the ‘Hastings,’ telling me that it will be all right there.  So I light my pipe on the platform deck and go below.  Great Jehosh!  The first thing I run on to is a couple of torpedoes, about a mile long and two hundred yards thick, loaded up with gun-cotton or pistol-satin enough to blow the ocean up into the sky.  And I haven’t had my smoke yet!”

“That’s all right,” called Hal, quietly, as the machinist’s somewhat shaking voice died out.  “You’re always safe, man, in following any lead that Captain Jack Benson gives you.  Go back on the ‘Hastings’ and have your smoke out.”

“But those two torpedoes, loaded up to the muzzles with artillery-felt, or some other exploding kind of dry-goods!” protested the machinist.

“Those two torpedoes are dummies,” laughed Hal Hastings.  “They’re aboard just for dummy torpedo practice.  There isn’t a kick in a dozen of ’em.  Go back and get your smoke, man!”

Hal must have looked at the machinist with unusual sharpness, for Williamson went promptly out through the door, closing it after him.

“I’m ready to go aboard, Mr. Benson,” proposed Lieutenant Danvers, “and make a start whenever you’re so inclined.”

“We’d better put it off for half an hour,” proposed Skipper Jack, with a laugh.  “That’ll give Williamson a chance to have that smoke of his over with.”

“That’ll suit me,” agreed the naval officer, cheerfully.  “In fact, Mr. Benson, if you won’t think me too much like cold molasses”—­Jack winced—­“I would propose that we start at a little after one o’clock this afternoon.  Even at that, we’ll be out long enough between that time and dark.”

“Any arrangement that suits you, Lieutenant, suits me,” nodded Jack Benson.  “You’re going with us to-day, aren’t you, Mr. Farnum?”

“Don’t you believe, for a moment,” retorted the shipbuilder, “that I’d let anything keep me from the first torpedo practice on one of our boats.  And I’m almost ashamed of Dave Pollard.  That fellow, instead of being here, is away somewhere in hiding, dreaming about a new style of clutch for the after end of the torpedo tube.  Oh, yes, I’ll be with you!”

“Hallo!” muttered Eph, stepping to a window that looked out on the yard near the street gate.  “What’s this coming?  A hundred people, at least, and they look like a mob!”

There was, in truth, a goodly inpouring of people, and fully a dozen of these new-corners seemed to be trying to talk at the same time.

CHAPTER II

TORPEDO PRACTICE AT LAST

“Perhaps they’re coming to make a row about having so much gun-cotton stored close to the village,” hinted Lieutenant Danvers.