“No.”

“Captain Benson?”

“Benson is my name.”

“This letter is addressed to Mr. Farnum,” went on the stranger, “but Mr.
Pollard told me I could hand it to you.”

Captain Jack took the letter from the unsealed envelope.

“My dear Farnum,” ran the enclosure, “since you’re short a good machinist
for the engine room of the ’Farnum,’ the bearer, Samuel Truax, seems to me
to be just the man you want. I’ve examined him, and he understands the
sort of machinery we use. Better give him a chance.” The note was signed
in David Pollard’s well-known, scrawly handwriting.

“I’m sorry you can’t see Mr. Farnum to-night,” said Benson, pleasantly.
“He’ll be here early in the morning, though.”

“When do you sail?” asked Truax, quickly.

“That you would have to ask Mr. Farnum, too,” smiled Jack.

“But, see here, Mr. Pollard engaged me to work aboard one of your
submarines.”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” laughed the young skipper.