THE MAN WHO DROPPED THE GLASS
Early the next morning there was, as might be imagined, a big stir of
excitement in the fleet.
First of all, one of the fleet patrol launches discovered the legend
lettered in white, on a gray background, on the Lizon's side.
As soon as the matter was reported aboard, the executive officer, after
ordering a side gangway lowered, and going down close to the water's
edge for a look, sent for the different watch officers of the night.
Each was emphatic in the belief that the thing did not happen during his
watch. Lieutenant McCrea was one of the most positive.
"But, Mr. McCrea," urged the "Luzon's" executive officer, "the time,
'11.33 P.M.,' has been lettered on the ship's side with great
distinctness."
Still, that lieutenant was positive that the outrage hadn't been
perpetrated during his deck watch. He had kept much too vigilant a
watch for that.
While the questioning of the watch officers was going on the "Luzon's"
captain appeared. He quizzed Mr. McCrea unmercifully, and that officer
of the early night watch began to look and feel most uncomfortable.
"There's but one thing to be done, first of all," stated the "Luzon's"
commander, Captain Bigelow. "Send a boat over to the 'Pollard' to ask
the people there if _they_ have any explanation to offer."
When the "Luzon's" launch came alongside, Mr. Farnum, expecting the
visit, assured the ensign in charge that he would go to the battle ship
at once to explain matters. Mr. Farnum did go. Captain Bigelow
listened with an intensely grave face. Lieutenant McCrea seemed to be
in the depths of mortification, and his face was very red.
"There is but one thing to be done, now, Mr. Farnum," declared Captain
Bigelow, severely. "We shall have to appear before Admiral Bentley, on
his flagship, as soon as he will receive us. You must repeat your
explanation to him."
This Mr. Farnum was quite willing to do. Before the boatbuilder finished
with his explanation to the fleet's commander there was a very decided
twinkle in Admiral Bentley's sharp old eyes.
"I accept your explanation, Mr. Farnum, that it was all a joke," smiled
the admiral.
"Of course," Jacob Farnum made haste to add, "having perpetrated such
a hoax, I shall charge myself with all the expense of painting out the
objectionable lettering."
"But I am not sure that that will be necessary," Admiral Bentley laughed.
"The truth is, Mr. Farnum, your hoax on Mr. McCrea has taught us a most
excellent and valuable lesson about the sort of other work that a
submarine might do against a battleship at anchor. The lesson is worth
far more than the cost of the paint. Indeed, I shall not have the
lettering on the 'Luzon's' side painted out until other officers of
the fleet have been able to examine such a striking proof of the value
of submarines. Yet I am extremely sorry for the feelings of Mr. McCrea
this morning."
In truth, Lieutenant McCrea was in for a most unmerciful tormenting by
his brother officers. If there was one thing on which the lieutenant
prided himself, it was upon the strictness of his deck watch. So the
jest, jibes and quips of his brother officers stung him deeply.
"Was the hoax your idea, Mr. Farnum?" asked Admiral Bentley.
"No, sir; I am sorry to say that I am not often as brilliant as that."
"Then whose joke was it?"
"It was the scheme of Captain Jack Benson, the 'Pollard's' present
commander."
"I have heard of your boyish captain," smiled Admiral Bentley. "He
must be a very resourceful young man."
"You're right in saying that," replied Farnum, with warmth. "Benson
is altogether about the brightest boy I've ever met. For that matter,
all three of the boys are unusually keen."
Admiral Bentley consulted a memorandum book that lay on his desk, before
he went on:
"Mr. Farnum, if you've nothing in the way, I shall be extremely glad to
have Mr. Pollard and yourself at luncheon at one o'clock this afternoon.
But I shall feel much disappointed if you do not also bring with you
your youthful captain, Benson."
Farnum promptly accepted, with great delight. This all looked as though
the "Pollard" would figure handsomely in the admiral's forthcoming
reports to Washington.
Ere the morning was over all the officers and men of the great war fleet
were laughing at Lieutenant McCrea. The newspaper correspondents with
the fleet got hold of the yarn, of course, and sent stories to their
journals that helped to make the fame of the "Pollard" and of those who
handled her.
As for McCrea, he kept out of sight all he could. It was months before
his brother officers in the Navy would let him hear the last of the joke
that had been played upon him.
"Has it hurt us any?" repeated Jacob Farnum, when he returned to the
submarine. "It has helped us wonderfully. And, Jack, my boy, you're to
lunch with the admiral to-day!"
In fact, that joke of Jack's was heard of in the halls of Congress later
on. The significant fact of it all was that, while the "Pollard" had
been manoeuvred for the successful perpetration of the joke, neither of
the other two submarines with the fleet was "handy" enough to be used
in quite such a neat trick.
When a United States rear-admiral entertains guests at luncheon aboard
his flagship, the affair is a stately one. When our three friends
appeared at table there were several naval officers in attendance.
"I have been laughing a good deal to-day, Captain Benson, over the joke
sprung on us last night," was Admiral Bentley's greeting. "It was
cleverly carried out, and with a great deal of skill in seamanship as
well."
"It wasn't intended, sir, to be so much a joke as a demonstration of
what our boat can accomplish," Jack replied, modestly.
"I haven't lost sight of the practical side of the affair, I assure you,"
rejoined the admiral. "But I am afraid I have wounded one
heart--McCrea's."
"Then I am very sorry," replied Jack, quickly. "I had hoped he would
feel as much like laughing as anyone."
"Mr. McCrea might feel more like laughing, if it weren't for the fact
that his brother officers insist on doing his laughing for him," chuckled
the admiral.
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 conversation, and between courses, this
steward approached the table to replace young Benson's water-glass,
which he had just filled.
As the steward reached out to set the glass down Jack wheeled, looking
straight into the man's eyes.
The steward returned the look and paled, then--
Crash! The glass dropped from the man's fingers, breaking to fragments
on the cabin floor.
With a softly-muttered word, the luckless steward bent, picked up the
pieces of glass and beat a hasty retreat, followed by a heavy frown
from the chief steward.
Then, all of a sudden, it flashed through the boy's mind where he had
seen this man before.
Leaning toward Jacob Farnum, the submarine boy whispered:
"You've been trying hard to find Grace Desmond's fugitive guardian."
"I don't know what I wouldn't give to come up with that rascal!" muttered
the boatbuilder fervently, his eyes blazing.
"Then I guess you're going to have your wish," continued Jack Benson.
"The man who dropped the glass is--Arthur Miller."
Uttering an eager cry, his fists clenched, Jacob Farnum started up
from his chair.