“I am the pilot, sir,” Jack replied.

“Why, you’re a boy.”

“Guilty,” Jack responded.

“What does this fooling mean? You’re not old enough to hold a pilot’s
license.”

By this time Benson was on the deck, immediately under the bridge. A half
dozen sailors, forward, were eyeing him curiously.

“I have no license, sir,” Jack admitted. “Neither has anyone else at
Dunhaven. For that matter, the harbor’s a private one, belonging to the
shipyard.”

“Hasn’t Mr. Farnum a _man_ he can send out?”

“No one who knows the harbor better than I do, sir.”

“Who are you? What are you?”

“Jack Benson, sir. Captain of the Pollard submarine boats.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

The question came sharply, almost raspingly.

“Beg your pardon, sir, but you didn’t ask me,” Jack replied.