Melville.
"Sixteen."
"Only sixteen?" queried Mr. Melville, in a voice of amazement. "Bah!
He is entirely too young to be entrusted with the hopes of such a great
boat-building company as I hope to help you organize. Don, too, is
quite young, but he has a great deal of capacity and has had a valuable
lot of experience. As to a boy of sixteen--however, your youth,
Benson, may no doubt be retained aboard as a member of the crew, if
Don likes him. And now, sir, it's two minutes of two."
With another impatient frown Mr. Melville held his watch out before Mr.
Farnum's eyes. That younger man hardly saw the dial. He was looking
past, out beyond the mouth of the little cove or harbor. As he did so,
Mr. Farnum beheld what, at first, looked like a big ripple spreading
over the placid water. Then the top of a steel conning tower shot up
into sight. It was followed by the emergence of the upper hull of a
strange looking cigar-shaped craft.
"Two minutes before the hour, did you say?" asked Jacob Farnum, placidly.
"Well, there's the 'Pollard,' just up from the depths, and gliding in
to anchorage."
Don Melville had strolled away from the pair, but now, at a call from
his father, he turned to watch the oncoming craft, which was none other
than the new submarine torpedo boat, the "Pollard."
The elder Melville was judge enough of boats and of boat-handling to
understand that the submarine was being brought into harbor in a very
clever, seamanlike manner.
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