engine room they beheld the man there
sitting bolt-upright on one of the leather-cushioned seats, staring hard
at the wall opposite. He turned his head, however, as soon as he became
aware of the presence of the submarine boys.

"Rather creepy, ain't it?" hailed Grant, his voice not as steady as
usual.

"Think you're going to learn to like it?" demanded Benson.

"Well, I may get so I'll think this sort of thing the greatest going,"
drawled Andrews, "but I'm afraid a good, soft bed on land will always
be a close second for me."

"Wonder how far the bosses are going to run under water?" pondered Eph,
sliding into the engine room and seating himself on the cushion
opposite Andrews.

"Till they've tried the boat out all they want to under water, I guess,"
ventured Jack.

"I'll slip back, so I can pass any order that may come," proposed Hal,
who, truth to tell, felt an undefinable something that made him too
restless to like the idea of sitting down.

As the "Pollard" continued to glide along, almost without perceptible
motion at that depth, these members of the crew became somewhat
accustomed to the feeling. They began to have a new notion, though,
that they would take it all much more easily after they had once seen
proof of the new craft's ability to rise.

"Say, I wonder if it would be too fresh of me to ask Mr. Farnum when he
means to try the rising stunt?" wondered Eph, aloud.

Grant Andrews looked up with interest, then shook his head.

"Better not," he advised. "We knew what we were coming to, and took all
the chances. Now, we'd better keep quiet. Any nervousness might bother
Mr. Pollard or Mr. Farnum."

"Well, she's a dandy boat, anyway," declared Eph, a bit jerkily. "So
far, she's done everything she's been told to. So I reckon she can
rise when the time comes."

"Who's below?" cried Mr. Farnum.

"Hastings, sir," Hal answered.

"Tell the crew we're going to run below the surface until the air
becomes noticeably bad. We want to test out the compressed-air devices
for purifying the atmosphere."

So Hal stepped forward with the message.

"Don't you think the air begins to smell queer already?" demanded Eph,
looking up. "I'm willing to have some compressed air turned on right
now."

The others laughed, which was all they could do. Jack Benson, of them
all, probably, was getting most rapidly over the first bad touch of
"submarine fright." He was now almost as well satisfied as he would