"I'm glad to be back, if there's anything unusual going to happen,"
replied the machinist, as they shook hands all around. Then, as they
fell to chatting, the machinist seated himself on a keg, the top of
which was about half off, revealing, underneath, a layer of jute bagging.

"We're going to have some great practice work," declared Hal, moving
about. "We're just waiting for that Navy man, and then we're going out
on the new submarine--the one that's named after me, you know."

Out in the little harbor beyond rode at anchor two grim-looking little
torpedo boats, each about one hundred and ten feet long. The older one
was named the "Benson," after Captain Jack. But the latest one to be
launched, which had had its full trial trip only some few days before,
bore the name of "Hastings" after the capable young chief engineer of
the Pollard boats.

Both of the boys, by this time, happened to be looking away from the
machinist. Williamson, in utter unconcern, drew a pipe out of one of
his pockets, filled it, and stuck the stem between his lips. Next, he
struck a safety match, softly, against the side of the match-box, and
lighted his pipe, drawing in great whiffs.

"Just how far does this practice go!" inquired the machinist, still
sitting on the keg and smoking contentedly.

At that moment Captain Jack Benson caught, in his nostrils, the scent
of burning tobacco.

In an instant a steely glitter shone in the young captain's eyes. Firm,