“How so?”

“Why, it is very plain that Mr. Mayhew thinks I ought to employ my time writing improbable fiction.”

“Oh, Mayhew be bothered!” exploded Eph.

“Hardly,” retorted Jack.  “Mr. Mayhew is an officer and a gentleman.  I admit that my yarn does sound fishy to a stranger.  Besides, fellows, Mr. Mayhew represents the naval officers through whose good opinion our employers hope to sell a big fleet of submarine torpedo boats to the United States Government.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?” asked Hal, as the three boys reached the cabin below.

“First of all, I’m going to rummage about and get myself some breakfast.”

“If you do, there’ll be a fight,” growled Eph Somers.  “I’ll hash up a breakfast for you.”

“And, afterwards?” persisted Hal.

“I’m going to try to win Mr. Mayhew’s good opinion, and that of every other naval officer or cadet I may happen to meet.”

“Why the cadets, particularly?” asked Eph Somers.

“Because, for one business reason, the cadets are going to be the naval officers of to-morrow, and the Pollard Submarine Boat Company hopes to be building craft for the Navy for a good many years to come.”

“Good enough!” nodded Hal, while Eph dodged away to get that breakfast ready.

Sam Truax lounged back in the engine room, smoking a short pipe.  With him stuck Williamson, for Eph had privately instructed the machinist from the Farnum yard not to leave the stranger alone in the engine room.

“Why don’t you go up on deck and get a few whiffs of fresh air?” asked Truax.

“Oh, I’m comfortable down here,” grunted the machinist, who was stretched out on one of the leather-cushioned seats that ran along the side of the engine room.

“I should think you’d want to get out of here once in a while, though,” returned Truax.

“Why?” asked the machinist.  “Anything you want to be left alone here for?”

“Oh, of course not,” drawled Truax, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke.

“Then I guess I’ll stay where I am,” nodded Williamson.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to stop all smoking in here now,” announced Eph, thrusting his head in at the doorway.  “There’ll be a lot of cadets aboard at eleven o’clock, and we want the air clear and sweet.  You’d better go all over the machinery and see that everything is in applepie order and appearance.  Mr. Hastings will be in here soon to inspect it.”

“Just what rank does that young turkey-cock hold on board?” sneered Truax, when the door had closed.

“Don’t know, I’m sure,” replied Williamson.  “All I know is that the three youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best advantage.  My pay is running right along, and I’ve no kick at taking orders from any one of them.”

“This is where I go on smoking, anyway,” declared Truax, insolently, striking a match and lighting his pipe again.  Williamson reached over, snatching the pipe from between the other man’s teeth and dumping out the coals, after which the machinist coolly dropped the pipe into one of his own pockets.