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Updated: May 8, 2025
Hey?" gasped John C. Rhinds, utterly nonplussed. Fred Radwin's lower jaw seemed to drop several inches. He stared as though he were seeing ghosts, while a sickly, greenish pallor crept into his handsome face. "By Jove, you were right, Rhinds!" gasped Jacob Farnum, turning. "Thank you, old man, for keeping our courage up." "Good morning, Mr. Farnum! Good Morning Mr.
"'Morning," replied Jacob Farnum, ignoring the outstretched hand of Rhinds. Radwin's ready-made smile, too, was overlooked, as the Pollard submarine party filed by into the breakfast room. "I don't believe they'll waste any make-believe cordiality on us, after that," grimaced Mr. Pollard, as he dropped into a chair at a table.
The three Rhinds torpedo boats were seized, under court orders, and sold to satisfy the claims of creditors of the Rhinds Company. The chauffeur recovered twenty thousand dollars damages through the attachment of Radwin's funds and the subsequent civil suit. Besides which, after a few months, the chauffeur had practically recovered from his painful injuries.
That low crouch and the following spring had carried the submarine boy just under Fred Radwin's outstretched right arm. And now, Jack Benson, being past both of his assailants, took refuge in discreet flight, in fact, he ran down the street with about every pound of human steam turned on. "Come on!" snarled Radwin, setting the sprinting pace.
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