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The sun, meanwhile, had gone down, showing the hull of a naval vessel some four miles off the harbor. Darkness came on quickly, with a clouded sky. As young Benson stepped on deck Grant Andrews followed him. “All finished here, Grant?” queried the yard’s owner. “Yes, sir. There’s mighty little chance to do anything where Hal Hastings has charge of the machinery.”
I cannot tell whether I were more pleased or mortified to observe, in those solitary walks, that the smaller birds did not appear to be at all afraid of me, but would hop about within a yard’s distance, looking for worms and other food, with as much indifference and security as if no creature at all were near them.
Farnum and his chauffeur, besides three naval officers. “What’s wrong, Andrews?” called the yard’s owner. “Why, that’s Jack Benson! What has happened to him?” Hal and Eph stood supporting their comrade, almost holding him, in fact. Jacob Farnum leaped from his automobile. Lieutenant Commander Mayhew followed him. “Liquor, eh?” exclaimed the naval officer, the odor reaching his nostrils.
Over on the “Farnum” the yard’s owner and Eph Somers watched wonderingly. They understood, well enough, that the new, trim-looking gunboat was in trouble, but they did not know that Jack Benson was held at fault. Down between decks the engines of the “Hudson” were toiling hard to run the craft off out of the sand. Then the machinery stopped. An engineer officer came up from below. He and Mr.
“The only one in near waters, sir,” replied the yard’s owner, “is a craft, not so very much larger than a launch, that ties up some three miles down the coast. She’s the boat I use when I need any towing here. Of course, I have the two torpedo boats, though their engines were not constructed for towing work.” “May I offer a suggestion?” asked Jack, when the talk lagged.
Taking the marine glasses from the conning tower, the shipbuilder was now well forward on the platform deck, scanning what was visible of the steam craft to the southward. At last the yard’s owner turned around to say: “I don’t believe you young men can have things ship-shape a second too soon. The craft heading this way has a military mast forward.
This invitation the yard’s owner accepted, asking only time enough to arrange for keeping some of his workmen over-time, awaiting the coming of flood-tide. So, presently, Jack and his employer found themselves seated at table in the gunboat’s handsome wardroom. Besides the lieutenant commander there were Lieutenant Halpin, two ensigns, two engineer officers and a young medical officer.
“May I speak with your watch officer?” he called. “I am the commanding officer,” Mr. Mayhew called down, in the cold, even, dulled voice of a man in trouble. “I am Mr. Farnum, owner of the yard. May I come on board?” “Be glad to have you,” Lieutenant Commander Mayhew responded. So Mr. Farnum went nimbly up over the side. “May I ask what is the trouble here, sir?” asked the yard’s owner.
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