.

The talk now turned upon the "Pollard's" construction, which the inventor
explained, while Jacob Farnum threw in a few words now and then.
Captain Jack had the good taste to remain silent during this discussion.
Admiral Bentley asked many questions, appeared deeply interested, and
promised to make a thorough trip of inspection aboard the submarine.

"The time may come, of course," said the admiral, musingly, "when a flag
officer will have to make his headquarters aboard such a little craft,
for the day may not be far distant when battleships will be too
cumbrous and too costly to be risked any more at sea when a nation is
engaged in war."

"That's our captain's view of the possibilities," nodded Mr. Farnum.

"It will be a sad blow to some of us old salts," laughed the admiral.
"It isn't likely to strike me, of course. I shall be retired, and done
with the service, before the big battleship becomes as useless in war
as a ferryboat. But you, Captain Benson, will very likely live to see
the day when the battleships will be sold for freight steamers. By the
way, my young friend, what is your age? Sixteen. Why, you are young
enough to enter Annapolis. With your bent for things naval, why don't
you try to interest your home Congressman in appointing you as a cadet?"

"If the battleship is to go, sir," replied the youngster, "or even
if the submarine is to become a vastly more important craft, it seems
to me that I shall be seizing the biggest chance by staying right
with Mr. Farnum and Mr. Pollard. The greatest naval man of the future
may be the all-around submarine expert."

"There, again, I am inclined to think you are right, Captain Benson,"
nodded the old admiral, thoughtfully. "My, but I often wish I could
look forward, as you may, to being alive fifty years from now--living
to see what sea warfare will be like _then_!"

While Jack Benson was listening or talking, he became conscious that one
of the noiseless stewards waiting at table was eyeing him keenly, even
if covertly, at such times as he approached.

The steward in question was brownhaired and smoothly shaven, a man of
about fifty years of age who carried himself with much dignity. When
Jack got his first good look at this man, the submarine boy felt
certain that the steward's hair was dyed to its present color. There
was something altogether familiar about the man's look, too, that
puzzled young Benson.

Now, during a lull in the conversati