Army, I'll bet, would a thousand times rather he didn't have!"

"Now, how am I going to get back to the Army people?" wondered young
Benson, slowing down to a walk, though keeping a vigilant lookout to
the rear. "I don't want to walk something like a million miles to find
a place from which I can get across the bay."

It was desolate country, over here. Jack and the long-legged one, well
to his rear, now, might be the only human beings within some miles. The
outlook was not an encouraging one.

"Say! Wow! Whoop! Blazes!" uttered Captain Jack, suddenly. "Now, I
remember Long-legs! Millard was the name he gave when he came to us, at
Dunhaven, last Fall. He was the chap who wanted to work on the submarine
construction. Said he'd do any kind of work, but Grant Andrews put him
in a separate shed, sorting and counting steel rivets, and never let him
get near a submarine boat. That's the same fellow--Millard. Or, at
least, that was the name he gave them. But, when Millard found he wasn't
going to do anything but take care of rivets, he threw up the job four
days after. He had pretended to be mighty hard up, too, and wanted work
at any sort of wages."

Jack's face began to glow as he remembered more and more of the brief
career of Millard at Dunhaven.

"And Dave Pollard, when he was over in Washington later, said he ran
across Millard living at the swell Arlington Hotel! Millard had a
different name in Washington, and refused to recognize Mr. Pollard--said
there was some mistake. By hookey! There isn't any mistake. Millard
was trying to steal submarine secrets at Dunhaven, and now he's trying