d what, at first, looked like a big ripple spreading
over the placid water. Then the top of a steel conning tower shot up
into sight. It was followed by the emergence of the upper hull of a
strange looking cigar-shaped craft.

"Two minutes before the hour, did you say?" asked Jacob Farnum, placidly.
"Well, there's the 'Pollard,' just up from the depths, and gliding in
to anchorage."

Don Melville had strolled away from the pair, but now, at a call from
his father, he turned to watch the oncoming craft, which was none other
than the new submarine torpedo boat, the "Pollard."

The elder Melville was judge enough of boats and of boat-handling to
understand that the submarine was being brought into harbor in a very
clever, seamanlike manner.

"She's still running under electric power, you know," explained Mr.
Farnum. "The distance is so short that Captain Benson doesn't consider
it worth while to start the gasoline engine."

Now, the boat came to a stop, with a slight reversing of her propellers.
At this moment the manhole cover of the conning tower was raised. Out
onto the platform deck surrounding the tower Captain Jack Benson nimbly
stepped. As he took the wheel in the open, the craft glided on with
hardly perceptible motion to a mooring buoy a few yards distant. Out
hopped another boy, in dark blue naval uniform and visored cap. This
youth, Eph Somers, ran nimbly forward over the hull. At just the right
instant Eph bent over, securing the forward tackle to the buoy, then
straightened up, saluting the young captain, as he called:

"Single tackle all fast, sir."

Now, a third boy, in uniform similar to those worn by the other two,
sprang out through the manhole. Hal Hastings, who had remained behind
to shut off the electric motor, waved his cap to Mr. Farnum.

"Well done, Captain Benson and crew!" shouted Jacob Farnum, heartily,
across the water.

"It won't take you long to be able to beat that performance, I take it,
Don," smiled the elder Melville at his Son. Don's upper lip curled just
perceptibly. Jacob Farnum frowned slightly, as he turned his face away.
It would not do to offend George Melville without cause, for that
gentleman was considering the raising of six or seven hundred thousand
dollars of additional working capital for the making of submarine boats.

"We're coming aboard, captain," added Mr. Farnum, shouting between his
hands, across the water. "Everything ship-shape for inspection?"