erish haste.

Several of the newspaper people wrote hasty, excited dispatches to their
papers for the evening editions. The messenger boy, when he arrived on
a run, was all but loaded down with paper. Then the yard's owner and
the newspaper folks dashed back to the shore.

Out on the harbor the water lay unruffled. There was not a sign of the
suspected tragedy that lay beneath the waves.

"It's an hour and a half since the boat sank," called one of the
correspondents.

"What were the boys supposed to do, anyway?" insisted another.

Jacob Farnum opened his mouth, as though to speak, then closed it again.

"Tell us," insisted one woman.

"Yes, tell us," insisted a man.

Just then, there came a shout over the waters. "Say, you lubbers, what
did you move that boat for?"

There was an instant gasp from all who turned so swiftly to look out
over the water.

Only Jack Benson's brown-haired head showed above the surface of the
harbor, but his look was laughing, utterly care-free.

The boatmen who had allowed their craft to drift while waiting, now
thrust out their oars, making quick time to where the submarine boy
stood treading water.

In his sudden revulsion of feeling the inventor all but fainted. Jacob
Farnum, his gnawing suspense over, felt as though his knees must give
way under him. Then, by a mighty effort, just as the deafening cheering
started, he led the race around the harbor.

"Here, you--Jack Benson!" gasped the yard's owner. "You come in here
mighty quick! Give an account of yourself. What was wrong below?"

"Wrong?" hailed back Benson, standing in the bow of the shore boat as
it made for shore.

"What were you doing down below, all this time?" demanded Mr. Farnum.

"Doing? Oh, Eph was taking a nap--"

"Taking a nap?"

"Hal was tinkering with the gasoline motor, and I was reading."

"Reading?" fumed Mr. Farnum. "What were you trying to do? Torment the
life out of us?"

"Were any of you folks worried?" asked Jack, smiling innocently at the
excited crowd.

"Worried?" ejaculated the boatbuilder. "I've telegraphed for a diver and
a wrecking company's outfit."

"Better countermand the order, air," advised Jack, dryly.

"But what on earth caused all the delay? What did it mean?" persisted
the boatbuilder. "Answer me, Benson."

"Why," laughed Jack, "when we started, I dropped a word or two about
trying to make the exhibition dramatic, didn't I?"

"If that's what you tried