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The carroty-topped boy crouched low, resting his hands on his knees, after the manner of a football player awaiting an assault. Kamanako slid in close. Ere Eph could seize him the Japanese let himself fall lightly on one side. One of his feet hooked itself behind Eph's advanced left ankle, the other foot pressing against the knee of the same leg.
The United States now own some of your boats, and the money of the people paid for those boats. Now, don't you think the people of this country have a right to know some of the secrets for which they pay good money, and a lot of it?" On hearing the question put that way Eph looked tremendously thoughtful for a few seconds. "Why, yes, undoubtedly," admitted the carroty-topped submarine boy.
And you may tell the Secretary " "Stop making fun of us," interposed a newspaper man. "You may tell the Secretary," finished Eph, "that I said I had no objection to his giving you the information you want." The newspaper men after gazing briefly at the innocent-looking face of the carroty-topped one, began to grin. "Young Somers is all right," declared one of the visitors.
"Gunpowder and smoke!" ejaculated the carroty-topped boy. "It's little chocolate drop!" "Are you going up on deck quietly and in an orderly way?" demanded Benson, a resolute glitter in his clear, blue eyes. "I please myself," retorted Kamanako, defiantly. At that Jack Benson promptly forgot the warning he had given Eph, and sprang at the inquisitive steward. "You'll go " began Benson.
Immediately afterward the upper third of a long, cigar-shaped craft came up into view, water rolling from her dripping sides, which glistened brightly as the sun came out briefly from behind a fall cloud. In the conning tower, through the thick plate glass, the three people in the shore boat made out the carroty-topped head and freckled, good-humored, honest, homely face of Eph Somers.
"How do you do, Captain?" "Louder. I'm afraid the captain can't hear you yet," grinned the carroty-topped submarine boy. "He's over on the gunboat." "Then who are you?" "Who? Me?" demanded Eph, innocently. "Oh, I'm only the Secretary of the Navy." "All right, Mr. Secretary," laughed the same young man. "We are coming aboard." "Aboard of what?" inquired Eph.
Straight up out of the watery depths shot a Carroty-topped boy, his wet skin glistening in the sun. "Good gracious!" gasped the girl. "Where did that boy come from?" "Say, sir," called up Eph Somers, distinguishing the lieutenant in his swift look, "where do you want the submarine boat to anchor?" "What's that to you, young man?" called down Mr. Featherstone, bluntly.
Immediately afterward the upper third of a long, cigar-shaped craft came up into view, water rolling from her dripping sides, which glistened brightly as the sun came out briefly from behind a fall cloud. In the conning tower, through the thick plate glass, the three people in the shore boat made out the carroty-topped head and freckled, good-humored, honest, homely face of Eph Somers.
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