Jack saluted, then turned away, finding his way to the deck. The cutter
was still alongside, and conveyed him back to the “Farnum.”

“Mr. Mayhew demanded your story, of course?” propounded Hal Hastings.
“What did he think?”

“He didn’t say so,” replied Jack Benson, with a wry smile, “but he let me
see that he thought I was out of my element on a submarine boat.”

“How so?”

“Why, it is very plain that Mr. Mayhew thinks I ought to employ my time
writing improbable fiction.”

“Oh, Mayhew be bothered!” exploded Eph.

“Hardly,” retorted Jack. “Mr. Mayhew is an officer and a gentleman. I
admit that my yarn _does_ sound fishy to a stranger. Besides, fellows, Mr.
Mayhew represents the naval officers through whose good opinion our
employers hope to sell a big fleet of submarine torpedo boats to the
United States Government.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?” asked Hal, as the three boys
reached the cabin below.

“First of all, I’m going to rummage about and get myself some breakfast.”

“If you do, there’ll be a fight,” growled Eph Somers. “I’ll hash up a
breakfast for you.”