“Pardon me, is this Mr. Lockyer?”
It was a warm afternoon, three days after the disgruntled Ferriss had
departed, that the inventor looked up from his desk to see, standing
in the open doorway of the office, a stalwart young figure that almost
filled the opening. Behind the newcomer two other forms could be seen.
One was that of a lad about the same age as the youth who had addressed
him, and the other a squat, bowlegged old fellow, with a fringe of gray
whisker running under his chin from ear to ear, like the crescent of a
new moon.
“Yes, I am Mr. Lockyer,” rejoined the submarine boat builder, looking
up quickly at his visitors. “Come in, won’t you? What can I do for you?”
As the lad who had first spoken advanced into the dingy office,
Lockyer saw that he was a sun-bronzed young chap of about seventeen,
dressed quietly, but neatly, in a gray-mixture suit. His companion,
whose round, good-natured face was crowned by a shock of red hair,
was about the same age and also wore a suit of plain but well-fitting
clothes. The third member of the party, however, as before hinted, was
a startling contrast. His stout figure was garbed in a checked suit,
capable, at a pinch, of acting as a checker board; a singularly small
derby hat hung to one side of his head, seemingly only being secured
from slipping off by an outstanding ear; and round his neck was tied a
silk handkerchief of gorgeous hue. Jacob’s coat would have looked pale
and colorless in comparison with it.
The countenance of this gaudily apparelled person offered a singular
contrast to his violent clothes. It was round, weather-beaten and
good-natured, the face of a hale and hearty old fellow who has lived
an outdoor life. Two blue eyes, set deep in a mass of furrows and
crow’s-feet, twinkled brightly as he looked about him.
“My name is Ned Strong, boatswain’s mate of the _Manhattan_,”
introduced Ned, who had been the first to enter the office. “This is my
shipmate, Boatswain’s Mate Hercules Taylor, and this”--turning to the
spectacularly garbed old man, “is Tom Marlin.”
“Aye, aye!” rumbled old Tom, from sheer force of habit.
“Why, you are some of the men who are detailed to the trial crew that
is to try out my boat, are you not?” inquired the inventor, extending
his hand cordially as he rose from his desk.
“Yes, sir,” nodded Ned. “We arrived a few minutes ago, and after
engaging rooms at the hotel in the village we came down here. We
thought that Lieutenant Parry might have arrived.”
“Why, no. I’ve just had a wire from him saying that he cannot get here
till some time this evening. It seems to me,” went on Mr. Lockyer,
surveying his guests with interest, “that you two lads must be the ones
the newspapers call the ‘Dreadnought Boys.’”
“I guess we’ve occupied a good deal of valuable space to the exclusion
of real news,” laughed Ned, coloring a little.
“Not to mention pictures,” grinned Herc. “They took one of me riding
the ship’s goat. My freckles came out fine--like spots on the sun.”
“You’ll pardon my saying that you look very young to have distinguished
yourselves so noticeably,” said the inventor.
“That’s what I say, sir,” struck in old Tom, in his deep, hoarse voice.
“Why, I’ve bin in the navy fer forty years, in wood and steel, and
nothin’ never happened to me the way it’s happened to them lads.”
“I guess it was just our luck,” laughed Ned good-naturedly; “you seem
to have a splendid plant here, Mr. Lockyer,” he went on, by way of
changing the subject. Ned was not one of those lads who likes to “blow
his own trumpet.” Such swaggerers are usually found wanting when the
time comes to try their metal.
“Yes; we’ve gone into the thing pretty extensively,” rejoined the
inventor. “And now, perhaps, as your officers have not arrived, you
would like to look over the plant. Have you ever seen a submarine
before?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Ned; “though I understand that your craft is far
ahead of the ones we are at present using. On our return from Costaveza
we were attached for a while to a ‘parent boat,’ and cruised around
with the diving craft.”
“My type of submarine will do away with the parent boat,” declared Mr.
Lockyer enthusiastically. “She has a cruising range of two thousand
miles or more, if necessary. But there, you will think all that mere
inventor’s enthusiasm. Within a week, however, I hope you will be able
to see for yourselves what she is capable of.”
“Jer-uso-hosophat! If you’d told me ten years ago that we would be
snoopin’ around the bottom of the ocean in such craft, I’d not have
believed it,” declared old Tom, as they set out. “I’d have believed
you could go to the bottom, all right; but I’d have likewise held that
you’d stay there. But sence we’ve bin detailed to submarine dooty, I
kin feel fins growing out o’ my shoulder blades, I relish being under
so much.”
“Something fishy about that!” chuckled Herc.
While the boys are on their way across the busy yard let us introduce
them more fully to the reader who has not already encountered them. Ned
Strong and Herc Taylor, then, were two lads who, orphaned at an early
age, had made their home for some years with a harsh, unsympathetic
grandparent who owned a big farm at Lamb’s Corners, not far from
Albany, New York. They had tired of the unceasing, monotonous round of
farm duties, but could not very well see a way out of their hum-drum
existence till one evening, in their local store, they saw one of the
navy’s recruiting posters. They wrote for information to the Bureau of
Navigation, and soon got replies that decided them as to their future
careers. After a stormy scene with their crabbed relative, they set out
for New York, their sole capital being some pocket money made by the
sale of skins.
Assigned to the new Dreadnought battleship _Manhattan_, when they had
passed their examination in New York, they at once plunged into some
remarkable adventures. The _Manhattan_ was ordered to Guantanamo for
battle practice soon after the boys joined her. Of their experiences
and many exciting adventures the readers can learn in the first volume
of this series, “The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice.” Their signal
services rendered when a flare-back occurred in a big-gun turret won
them their promotions and medals from the government. This was only one
of their many exciting and perilous adventures.
After a brief furlough they once more went to sea, this time aboard
the destroyer _Beale_, which had been ordered to duty at Costaveza,
a turbulent South American republic where a revolution was raging.
While there they were able to distinguish themselves mightily by
participating in some stirring naval engagements. These came about
during their surprising cruise on a Costavezan destroyer. The final
downfall of their old enemy, Hank Harkins, a ne’er-do-well from their
native village, was also related in this volume, which is called, “The
Dreadnought Boys Aboard a Destroyer.”
Although they had rendered American interests in Costaveza great
service, the United States could not reward them, as the lads had been
non-combatants, so far as theory was concerned. By way of recompensing
them, however, they had been assigned to submarine work, the most
interesting branch of the service to-day. On this duty they had once
more encountered old Tom Marlin, who, the reader will recall, was their
guide, philosopher and friend during their troublous early days on the
_Manhattan_. Their commander, Captain Dunham, bearing the lads in mind,
had later detailed them, with Lieutenant Parry, to the Lockyer secret
tests. And garbed as we have seen, in ordinary clothes, the lads and
old Tom had journeyed down to Grayport, expecting to meet there their
superior officer.
As they left the tool-repair shop, Mr. Lockyer turned to Ned and
remarked:
“And now we will see what some folks have called ‘Lockyer’s Dream.’”
He pointed to the long, narrow shed we have already noticed. The boys’
eyes sparkled with interested anticipation as they struck out with
him across the yard. Old Tom, however, lingered. He had drawn out his
inevitable black pipe and tried to light it. But in the brisk wind that
was blowing he was compelled to seek the shelter of a small shack that
stood, with open door, not far from the tool shed.
“Where’s your friend?” asked Mr. Lockyer, suddenly noting Tom’s absence
from the party.
“Why, he----Oh, there he is!” cried Ned, who had just noted the ends of
the old tar’s necktie floating out on the breezes as the mariner dodged
into the shed.
“What’s he after in there?” asked the inventor in a sharp tone, staring
back toward the shed into which Tom had dived.
“He’s lighting his pipe,” exclaimed Ned, craning his neck. “He----”
“WHAT!” roared the inventor in a shrill voice. His eyes seemed to
distend and a look of alarm came over his face.
Before the Dreadnought Boys knew what was the matter he was off like a
bullet from a rifle, crossing the yard in long jumps. In a few bounds
he gained the shed, and, rushing into it, made straight for old Tom.
“Look! Look out there!” he exclaimed, pointing through the door in the
boys’ direction.
Old Tom, somewhat astonished at the other’s vehemence, obediently
glanced in the direction indicated. As he did so, Lockyer’s long
fingers closed over the mariner’s and he seized the match from them and
vigorously stamped it out. Then, with a quick movement, he caught the
astonished tar by the scruff of the neck and the slack of his trousers,
and, with a strength that the boys had never guessed he possessed,
propelled that astounded mariner through the door and halfway across
the yard. Arrived at a panting standstill, Mr. Lockyer seized Tom’s
pipe from his mouth, and without a word of explanation chucked it
clear over the high board fence and out of the place.
“Well! What the----” began old Tom; but the habit of discipline was
strong upon him, and, muffling his resentment, he turned upon Mr.
Lockyer. “Well, sir,” he began, “I don’t take that very kindly. You
might hev warned me and----”
“Warned you!” shouted the inventor. “Great heaven, man, it might have
been too late. Do you know what is stored inside that place where you
lit the match?”
Tom shook his head, while the boys leaned eagerly forward.
“Gun-cotton!” was the startling rejoinder.
“Gun-cotton!” echoed Ned. “Then Tom might have----”
“Blown us all to kingdom come, and the boat, too,” declared the
inventor, who had now recovered his composure, though his face was
still pale. It was old Tom and the boys who were shaky now.
“Good gracious!” quavered Ned, not able to repress a shudder as he
realized their narrow escape. “But why don’t you put up some sign,--”
he asked, “something to warn any stranger of the dangerous contents of
the shed?”
For answer Lockyer swung the open door closed, and they now saw clearly
enough that, emblazoned in big white letters on its outside, was the
inscription:
“_Gun-cotton! Danger!_ Persons entering this shed will wear felt-soled
shoes.”
“I’m going to find out who left that door open,” said the inventor
grimly; “but in any event, smoking is forbidden on these premises. It’s
too dangerous.”
“A good order, too,” assented Ned. But old Tom’s face bore a lugubrious
look.
“It’s all right for you who don’t smoke and can’t be persuaded to,
shipmates,” he muttered so that the inventor would not hear, “but me
and my old pipe’s bin messmates fer a long time, an’ I hate to lose it.”
“Cheer up. You can easily find it outside,” comforted Herc; “but
you’ll have to confine your smoking to the evenings after this.”
“Reckon that’s so,” assented Tom, immensely cheered at the thought that
his pipe was not irrevocably lost.
“And now we’ll continue our stroll,” said Mr. Lockyer. “First let
us visit the construction shed, which I imagine will prove the most
interesting.”
So saying, he struck out rapidly across the yard, his long legs opening
and closing like the blades of a pair of scissors. They could not have
been a hundred yards from the shed when the ground shook and there came
the sound of a muffled explosion. As the inventor came to a sudden
halt, a startled look on his face, a chorus of excited shouts arose
from within, and presently a white-faced boy came rushing out. He was
followed by another workman and then another. Panic seemed to have
seized them. They hardly noticed our astonished group as they sped by.
“Good heavens! something has happened to the boat!” gasped Mr.
Lockyer, turning pale and his slender form shaking like a leaf. He
clapped a hand to his head. In the face of the sudden emergency he
seemed crushed.