Stiffly, snorting but without words, George Melville walked out of the
office, across the outer office, and out into the yard.

In the private office the three submarine boys stood as though riveted
to the floor. They were astounded, and knew not what to say. They were
overjoyed, but incapable of expressing any word of the gratitude that
filled their young hearts.

David Pollard walked to a chair, dropping into it and studying the
ceiling.

As for the boatbuilder, he stepped briskly across the room, pulling open
the door of a cupboard. Taking out a broom, he began to sweep very
carefully where the Melville group had sat or stood, and continued his
sweeping across the threshold of the doorway. Then, returning, he
tossed the broom into the cupboard. Stepping springily over, he
dropped into his desk chair, letting out a hearty laugh.

"Well, that's over with, and a narrow escape," he announced.

"But you couldn't quite sweep all their dirt out after them," declared
David Pollard, looking up with a smile.

"What do you think of that crowd, boys?" asked Jacob Farnum, cheerily.

"I'm not giving much thought to them, sir," Jack replied, adding warmly:
"But we fellows, Mr. Farnum, simply can't think of words that will
express how we appreciate the splendid way Mr. Pollard and yourself have
stood up for us."