The rivals went down to the water front together. It was well after
nine o'clock when they entered a shore boat.

"We'll go out to your craft, first," proposed Mr. Rhinds, "You'll feel
so much better, gentlemen, when you find your crew all right. I'll feel
better, too, for I wouldn't want to beat you unfairly to-day."

Grant Andrews and two of his workmen stood on the platform deck of the
"Benson," leaning against the conning tower, when the shore boat came
within hail.

"I am afraid to call out to Grant, and ask him," faltered the
shipbuilder.

"Then don't do it," returned Mr. Rhinds, sympathetically. "Just wait
until we get alongside, and you'll see your young men popping out of the
conning tower, rested and as bright as new buttons."

A moment later the shore boat rounded in alongside. Then, quite
suddenly, the three submarine boys projected themselves through the
manhole, and stood in full view on the platform deck.

"Eh? Hey?" gasped John C. Rhinds, utterly nonplussed.

Fred Radwin's lower jaw seemed to drop several inches. He stared as
though he were seeing ghosts, while a sickly, greenish pallor crept into
his handsome face.

"By Jove, you were right, Rhinds!" gasped Jacob Farnum, turning. "Thank
you, old man, for keeping our courage up."