off the two tons and a half of
gun-cotton in those Whitehead torpedoes. That would have laid the whole
shipyard flat. In fact, after the torpedoes went up, there wouldn't have
been much left of any part of Dunhaven!"

"Gr--great Hercules!" gasped the machinist, his face now losing every
vestige of color.

Then, after a moment:

"With so much sky-high trouble stored in that shed, you should have a
sign up."

"There is one, on the door," replied Captain Jack. "But the door
happened to be swung open, so that you couldn't see it. Yet I guess
you're the only one in all Dunhaven who didn't know what the shed
contains."

"And how does the little town like the idea!" demanded Williamson,
beginning to smile as his color slowly returned.

"Why, the people can't expect to have very much to say," Jack replied.
"We have a permit to store the explosive, and it's at the request of the
United States Government. You're not afraid to be near so much rockety
stuff are you?"

Williamson gazed at the young skipper reproachfully.

"Now, what have I ever done, Captain, or what have I failed to do, that
should make you think me only forty per cent. good on nerve? Though
I'll admit that my appetite for smoking won't be good when I'm near this
shed. How long is the stuff going to stay here? That is, if some idiot
doesn't play with matches in that shed."

"I expect it will about all be used, after the Navy officer gets on the
scene, and drills us in using torpedoes," Captain Benson answered. "It
isn't intended to keep that sort of stuff stored here all the time."

"Oh! Then I reckon I won't toss my job into the harbor," grinned the
machinist. "How soon are you going to want me?"

"You can go aboard the 'Hastings' at once," replied Skipper Jack. "It
won't do any harm to have the machinery of the new boat looked over with
a most critical eye."

"Any gun-cotton, rack-a-rock wool or dynamite silk stored on board the
new craft?" inquired Williamson, with a look of mock anxiety.

"Nothing more dangerous than gasoline," Captain Jack smiled.

"Oh, I don't mind that stuff,". chuckled the machinist. "I want a
smoke. That's why I'm particular about not going to work near any stuff
that has such a big idea of itself that it swells up every time a match
or a lighted pipe comes around. I'll go aboard now."

With this statement, Williamson strolled down to the beach, untying a
small skiff and pulling himself out to the newer