“But you shall be well paid!”

“Professor, what would be your price for selling out your country to the United States?” asked Hal, gazing fixedly at the German.

“You insult me!” cried the German, his face growing red.  “I am a patriot.”

“Yet, you insult us by thinking that we would sell our country,” went on Hal, coolly.

“Are you two going to be as big fools as your captain?” demanded Herr Professor Radberg, almost incredulously.

“Bigger!” promised Eph, with a grin.

“Ach!  Well, we shall talk this all over when you come to the hotel in an hour,” replied the German.  He turned and left the store.

“Now, I don’t doubt,” mocked Hal, “he has gone away firm in the belief that we’ll keep his appointment.”

“He’ll wake up after a while,” laughed Eph Somers.

After indulging in a second ice cream soda the submarine boys started down the street toward the Farnum shipyard where the Pollard boats were built.

As they passed a street corner they heard a cautious: 

“Hss—­sst!”

“Now, who threw that our way?” demanded the irrepressible Eph, turning swiftly.  Then he added, in a tone so low that only his comrades could hear: 

“Say, fellows, I’ll bet that cost something!”

“That” was, a rather undersized little man, of perhaps thirty.  Dark of hair, and sparkling of eye, the stranger’s rather pallid face was partly covered, in front, by a short goatee, of the French “imperial” sort, and a moustache whose points were waxed out in fierce military fashion.

It was the stranger’s apparel that had attracted Eph’s notice particularly.  The stranger was arrayed almost exquisite fashion; his clothes were of finest texture and latest Parisian type.  His little, pointed shoes were almost as dainty as a girl’s.  Though the day was warm the stranger was gloved, and handled a cane in the head of which a handsome amethyst shone.

“I wonder how that got through the custom house?” was Eph Somers’s next undertoned question.

“Ah, good morning, gentlemen,” greeted the stranger, coming toward them, all smiles and bows.  “Av I have not med ze mistake, zen I am address ze torpedo boys.”

“Right-o,” drawled Eph.  “Regular human torpedoes, as touchy as gun-cotton.  Why, I am due to explode this moment!”

Though the stranger looked puzzled at first, his face rapidly broke into a cordial smile.

“Oh, ah!  I understand.  You mek what is call ze American joke, eh?  You have little fun wiz me.”

The Frenchman, for that he unmistakably was, laughed in the utmost good humor.  The boys found themselves much inclined to like this stranger.

“Now, young gentlemen,” continued the Frenchman, “I am ze Chevalier Gari d’Ouray.”

“Glad to meet you, Chev,” volunteered Eph, with suspicious amiability, holding out his hand, which the Frenchman took daintily.  “I’m a ‘shoveleer’ myself, and this awkward, gawky looking boy with me is our engineer.”