“That’s so, if you can come near to making as good as you promise,” admitted the inventor, thoughtfully.  “But you’re pretty young.”

“And that’s the only fault with the Pollard submarine boat,” rejoined Jack Benson, artfully.  “You’ve got to buck your boat against all the older types that the Government already takes an interest in.  Yet you feel sure that you can do it.  You don’t believe the Pollard diving boat is too young.  Give us the same show you ask for your boat.”

“Well, I’ve never seen any of your work—­except these drawings,” replied Mr. Pollard, indicating some sheets that lay on the table before them.

The chums had succeeded in making the inventor’s acquaintance through the aid of the landlord.  It was now eleven o’clock at night.  Jack and Hal had been in the inventor’s room for the last three hours.  Benson had done most of the talking, though Hal had now and then put in some effective words.

David Pollard was now thirty years of age, tall, lean and of pallid countenance.  He was a graduate of a technical school.  Though not a practical mechanic, he had a rather good lot of theory stored away in his mind.  He had inherited some money, soon after leaving school, but this money had vanished in inventions that he had not succeeded in marketing.  Now, all his hopes in life were centered in the submarine torpedo boat that was nearly completed.  Pollard had had no money of his own to put into the craft.  Jacob Farnum was his friend and financial backer.

No one could grasp how much success with his submarine boat meant to this wearied yet hopeful inventor.  For years all his schemes had been laughed at by “practical” men.  It was success, more than mere fortune, for which David Pollard hungered.  The officials of the Navy Department, at Washington, had promised to inspect and try the boat, when finished, but that was all the encouragement that had come from the national capital.

If the “Pollard,” as the new craft was at present named, should prove a failure, then the inventor felt that he would be “down” indeed in the world.  Also, he must feel that he had buried one hundred and fifty thousand dollars of the money of his loyal friend, Farnum.

In his present anxious, worried frame of mind, with few real believers in the possible success of his boat, it was little wonder that David Pollard was grateful for any intelligent interest or faith in his plans.  These two friends were but boys, nor had they had any experience in submarine boat construction.  Yet they had shown the inventor that they knew much about machinery and marine engines in general, and Jack, with his handy knack of sketching machinery, had made a decided hit with poor Pollard.

“Just put us in as apprentices,” begged Benson.  “We’ll be just the plainest sort of helpers, fetching and lifting, and that sort of thing, until we learn how to do more.”

“Well, you see, for one thing, boys,” replied Pollard, “this building of a submarine boat is very important and confidential work.  Now, while I like the looks and talk of you both, I really don’t know a thing about either of you.”