"So it is," nodded the owner of the yard, after briefly consulting his
watch.

For half an hour, or a little longer, a middle aged man, with the world
of business and large affairs imprinted on him, had been walking to and
fro along the shore end of the yard. In this walk he was accompanied by
his son, a handsome, dark-eyed and dark-haired young fellow of nineteen.
George Melville, the father, was attired very much as any prosperous,
busy man might have been, with a touch of fastidiousness added, but the
son, Don, was dressed and groomed to look just what he wanted to appear
to be, the born young aristocrat.

"Punctuality is one of the cardinal virtues with me, you know," continued
Mr. Melville, impatiently, as he again glanced at his watch. "I had
hoped to be able to see your submarine boat, the 'Pollard,' this
afternoon."

"And I certainly hope you will be able to," replied Jacob Farnum,
cordially. This builder, a young man in his thirties, allowed a shade
of uneasiness to flit across his face.

"However, when Don is in command of the boat," continued Mr. Melville,
"things will doubtless be run on a better system. That is, if we
should decide to invest the money and place Don on board as captain."

"Your son?" inquired Jacob Farnum, with a quick note of astonishment in
his voice.

"Certainly," continued Mr. Melville, in the easy voice of one who is sure