t most folks will be dressed up mighty well to-day," objected Hal.
"Even Grant Andrews has his best suit on."

"Well, we haven't any other clothes," murmured Jack, like a young
philosopher. "Folks won't be looking at us, anyway. They'll all have
their eyes on the boat."

The watchman at the gate had been reinforced by another man, to hold
the crowd back. When the would-be spectators found that only work men
and invited guests would be admitted to the yard the disappointed ones
made a scurry for the nearest portions of the shore outside the big
fence.

Inside, the noise of hammers had stopped. The entire front of the
submarine's shed had been removed, and much of the underpinning structure
that held the "Pollard" in place. All that remained, to send the steel
craft into the water, were the command and a few lusty sledgehammer
strokes.

The band was playing again, a lively strain. Jacob Farnum was bustling
about, although, as far as could be seen, his only impulse was sheer
excitement.

David Pollard, silent and more anxious than anyone could know, stood
apart with Grant Andrews, while Eph Somers stood solitary at a little
distance.

Even the coming of the boys caused Pollard a bit of relief. They were
to be of the crew at the launching, and their early arrival showed the
inventor that there ought not, now, to be the faintest hitch.

"I thought there was going to be a naval officer here, Mr. Pollard,"
whispered Jack.

"Looking for a uniform, eh?" laughed the inventor. "There is a naval
officer here--Lieutenant Jackson. There he is, over there, in the gray
suit and straw bat."

"Does he go on the boat with us?"

"Oh, no. He's simply to watch the launching, and see how the craft sits
on the water after she goes in. Some time in the near future there'll
be a board of naval officers here, when we're ready to show them what
the boat can do."

With everything in readiness, the nerves of all the interested persons
present began to suffer from the suspense. Only the tireless band saved
the day.

"Come along," said Jacob Farnum, at last. "It's a quarter of ten. We'll
get up in our places."

Those who were going made a rush for the shed. The band leader, catching
the enthusiasm, led his musicians, with a crash, into a triumphal march.
Eph Somers slid, unobtrusively, into the shed. David Pollard turned to
look at him keenly.

"I want to be on hand to help just a bit, if I can," murmured Eph,
plea