Farnum, don't you sometimes get nervous over such things?" demanded
one of the women.
"Never," the boatbuilder assured her.
Yet is was not long before the yard's owner pulled out his watch to look
at the dial. Eleven minutes had passed since the disappearance of the
submarine. The next time Farnum glanced at his watch the time had
lengthened to fifteen minutes. Then the time dragged by to half an hour.
David Pollard was fighting hard to conceal the nervous dread that had
seized him.
"Farnum," he found chance to whisper, at last, "something tragic has
happened to the boys, at last. What on earth can it be? Whatever it
is, we're utterly powerless to help them!"
CHAPTER VII
MISSING--A SUBMARINE AND CREW
Fifteen minutes more dragged by.
"Where's your show, Mr. Farnum?"
"Something has gone wrong, eh?"
The correspondents were pressing about the worried builder and the uneasy
inventor.
"There's a tragedy going on over there, isn't there?" demanded another
journalist, pointing out across the water.
"I--I'm afraid there is a chance of it," nodded Mr. Farnum, dejectedly,
again looking at the watch in his hand. "It's getting on toward an hour
since the 'Pollard' went down."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"Is there no way to rescue the crew?"
"Don't let those boys die, without lifting a finger to save them."
"Get busy, man--in heaven's name, get busy!"
Such were the comments, questions and advice that poured in on the
builder.
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