United States or Belize ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
“I’ll let you have ten dollars on account, then,” replied Jack, who was well supplied with money, thanks to a draft received from Jacob Farnum. “I don’t want to go ashore, anyway.” “I’m sorry, Truax, but it doesn’t really make any difference. The boat will be closed up tight, and there wouldn’t be any place for you to stay, except on the platform deck.”
“I thought Truax had more sense than to go in for such tomfoolery,” Jack Benson retorted, bluntly. The mulatto launched into a prompt, energetic defense of the voodoo doctors. Young Benson had heard a good deal about these clever old colored frauds. In spite of his contempt, the submarine boy found himself interested.
He passed word below to Eph Somers to take the wheel in the conning tower. Eph, therefore, came up with the last of the cadets from below. In the excitement of the pending race it had not been noticed by any of the submarine boys that Williamson was already on deck, aft. That left Sam Truax below in sole possession of the boat's engine quarters.
The shore boat waited to convey them to the landing. Before going, young Captain Benson closed and locked the manhole entrance to the conning tower. A sullen silence had fallen over Truax. The instructions to the corporal of the guard, and the prompt acceptance of those instructions, told Sam, beyond any doubt, that he was not coming back on board that night.
"If you come to and get back to the yard without help, you'll walk unsteadily and have that smell about your clothes. Usually, it needs only a breath of suspicion to turn folks against a boy!" Pausing only long enough to learn that Jack's pulses were beating, and that the submarine boy was breathing, Truax stole off into the might, carrying the bag of sand under his over coat.
Hal found Sam Truax sitting moodily in a corner of the engine room, though there was something about the fellow's appearance that suggested the watchfulness of a cat. "Why don't you go on deck a while, Truax?" asked Hal, kindly. "Don't want to," snapped the fellow, irritably. So Hal turned his back on the man.
"He doesn't need any size or weight," retorted Williamson, crisply. "If Captain Benson wants you off this boat, it's only the matter of a moment for him to get a squad of marines on board and you'll march off to the 'Rogues' march'." "So that's the way he'd work it, eh?" demanded Sam Truax, turning green and ugly around the lips. "You bet it is," retorted the machinist.
“Because, for one business reason, the cadets are going to be the naval officers of to-morrow, and the Pollard Submarine Boat Company hopes to be building craft for the Navy for a good many years to come.” “Good enough!” nodded Hal, while Eph dodged away to get that breakfast ready. Sam Truax lounged back in the engine room, smoking a short pipe.
"Just what rank does that young turkey-cock hold on board?" sneered Truax, when the door had closed. "Don't know, I'm sure," replied Williamson. "All I know is that the three youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best advantage. My pay is running right along, and I've no kick at taking orders from any one of them."
It may have been that some of the men she met were Schwirtzes to their wives, but to her they had to be fellow-workers. She did not believe that the long hours, the jealousies, the worry, or Mr. Truax's belief that he was several planes above ordinary humanity, were desirable or necessary parts of the life at Truax & Fein's.