A moment or two later, the commanding officer of the "_Massapequa_"
was reading this brief but astounding communication:
_Commanding Officer, U.S.S. "Massapequa": You are towing the submarine
torpedo boat "Pollard" astern. Technically and theoretically, haven't
you lost your ship? (signed) Ennerling, Commander, U.S.N._
With an explosive remark the gunboat's commander snatched up his cap,
darting aft. The corporal, whose curiosity was aroused, judged that he
was expected to follow, and did so.
"What's this nonsense about towing a submarine torpedo boat?" demanded
the gunboat's commander, reaching deck aft.
"Wh-what, sir!" stammered the marine sentry, presenting arms.
"Where did this boy come from?" demanded the Naval officer.
"I--I don't--" began the sentry, but his superior, leaving him,
rushed to the flagstaff.
"Sentry, what were you doing? What was everyone else doing?" cried the
gunboat's commander. "Did you think it a part of our cruise to serve as
mooring for stray torpedo boats? You--come here, you blockhead!"
The corporal got there ahead of the private, looking down in utter
bewilderment at the sight of the "Pollard" riding the waves so saucily
just astern of the gunboat's hull.
"Did you come aboard from the submarine?" questioned the gunboat's
commander, wheeling upon Jack Benson.
"Yes, sir."
"Ahoy, '_Massapequa_,'" floated up in Ennerling's tones.
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