hit you?”

Another man thrust his head down the cabin hatchway, showing an evil,
grinning face.

“Got ’em right?” demanded the one from the hatchway.

“Yes,” snapped the bearded one, then turned to give his attention to Jack
Benson, who was putting up an ineffectual fight while Hal slumbered on.
“Now, see here, Benson, quit all your fooling!”

“You lemme up,” insisted the submarine boy, in a low, dull voice, though
he swung both his arms in an effort to assert himself. “’M not goin’ t’
stay here. Lemme up, I say! ’M goin’ back to—own boat.”

“The submarine?” jeered the bearded man.

“Yep.”

“Guess again, son,” laughed Curtis, jeeringly. “You’re not going back
aboard the submarine to-night.”

“Am so,” declared Benson, obstinately, though his tone was growing more
drowsy every instant, and his busy hands moved almost as weakly as an
infant’s.

“Listen, if you’ve got enough of your senses left,” growled the bearded
men. “You’re not going back to the ’Farnum’—neither to-night, nor at any
other time during the next few months. You’re bound on a long cruise, but
not on a submarine boat. I am the captain here, and I’ll name the cruise!”