well around in order to release compressed air with a rush and great
force into the water tanks.

Then he stood there, waiting. There was no perceptible motion or
other change that the boys could note about the boat.

"Wha--what makes it act so slowly?" asked Eph Somers, in a queer
voice. "Or isn't it going to act?"

For some seconds more the four stood there looking at one another.
Andrews came to the doorway of the engine room, looking anxious.

"We've released a lot of compressed air," uttered Mr. Farnum. "More
than half of the force in the receiver is gone."

A few seconds more passed. Then restless Eph sprang to the stairway.

"Mr. Pollard," he cried, nervously, "when on earth--under the sea,
I mean--are we going up? What's wrong?"

"Going up?" called down the inventor. "This isn't an airship."

"When are we going to strike the surface?" Eph insisted.

"Why, we're awash already. Don't you notice I've just shut off the
electric motor?"

That was true, although none of the quartette had yet realized that the
propeller shafts were stilled.

"Awash, are we?" cried Eph, in an incredulous voice.

"If you can't believe it," replied David Pollard, calmly, "come up and
see for yourself." Eph accepted that invitation with such alacrity that
he tripped and barked his shins against one of the iron steps, but
recovered and darted up in no time.

"Glory!" he shouted, jubilantly. "It's true. I can see the stars."

At that moment the bell rang for turning on the gasoline motor. Within
a few seconds the big engines were throbbing. Again the propeller
shafts began to turn. Now, all hands could feel the motion as the
"Pollard" skimmed lazily along over the ocean's surfaces.

As Eph came down, Jack Benson stepped up, with a light heart, now that
the submarine had responded to the last and most important of its
tasks. He stood beside the wheel, ready to take it whenever Mr.
Pollard should give it up.

Yes, indeed; there was the sky overhead. And, with this glimpse of
heaven's arch Jack Benson found himself forever done with submarine
fever in the matter of the ordinary risk and dreads.

As yet only the conning tower was out of water. The platform deck would
not emerge until Mr. Farnum, below, employed much of the remaining
compressed air for expelling the last gallons of sail water from the
tanks.

"What's that off the starboard bow?" wondered Jack. "Stop, Mr. Pollard.
Reverse! I'm sure there's