"What's the odds?" replied young Benson. "We're workmen, anyway."

"But most folks will be dressed up mighty well to-day," objected Hal.
"Even Grant Andrews has his best suit on."

"Well, we haven't any other clothes," murmured Jack, like a young
philosopher. "Folks won't be looking at us, anyway. They'll all have
their eyes on the boat."

The watchman at the gate had been reinforced by another man, to hold
the crowd back. When the would-be spectators found that only work men
and invited guests would be admitted to the yard the disappointed ones
made a scurry for the nearest portions of the shore outside the big
fence.

Inside, the noise of hammers had stopped. The entire front of the
submarine's shed had been removed, and much of the underpinning structure
that held the "Pollard" in place. All that remained, to send the steel
craft into the water, were the command and a few lusty sledgehammer
strokes.

The band was playing again, a lively strain. Jacob Farnum was bustling
about, although, as far as could be seen, his only impulse was sheer
excitement.

David Pollard, silent and more anxious than anyone could know, stood
apart with Grant Andrews, while Eph Somers stood solitary at a little
distance.