CHAPTER II.
THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON DECK.
“Pardon me, is this Mr. Lockyer?”
It was a warm afternoon, three days after the disgruntled Ferriss had departed, that the inventor looked up from his desk to see, standing in the open doorway of the office, a stalwart young figure that almost filled the opening. Behind the newcomer two other forms could be seen. One was that of a lad about the same age as the youth who had addressed him, and the other a squat, bowlegged old fellow, with a fringe of gray whisker running under his chin from ear to ear, like the crescent of a new moon.
“Yes, I am Mr. Lockyer,” rejoined the submarine boat builder, looking up quickly at his visitors. “Come in, won’t you? What can I do for you?”
As the lad who had first spoken advanced into the dingy office, Lockyer saw that he was a sun-bronzed young chap of about seventeen, dressed quietly, but neatly, in a gray-mixture suit. His companion, whose round, good-natured face was crowned by a shock of red hair, was about the same age and also wore a suit of plain but well-fitting clothes. The third member of the party, however, as before hinted, was a startling contrast. His stout figure was garbed in a checked suit, capable, at a pinch, of acting as a checker board; a singularly small derby hat hung to one side of his head, seemingly only being secured from slipping off by an outstanding ear; and round his neck was tied a silk handkerchief of gorgeous hue. Jacob’s coat would have looked pale and colorless in comparison with it.
The countenance of this gaudily apparelled person offered a singular contrast to his violent clothes. It was round, weather-beaten and good-natured, the face of a hale and hearty old fellow who has lived an outdoor life. Two blue eyes, set deep in a mass of furrows and crow’s-feet, twinkled brightly as he looked about him.
“My name is Ned Strong, boatswain’s mate of the Manhattan,” introduced Ned, who had been the first to enter the office. “This is my shipmate, Boatswain’s Mate Hercules Taylor, and this”—turning to the spectacularly garbed old man, “is Tom Marlin.”
“Aye, aye!” rumbled old Tom, from sheer force of habit.
“Why, you are some of the men who are detailed to the trial crew that is to try out my boat, are you not?” inquired the inventor, extending his hand cordially as he rose from his desk.
“Yes, sir,” nodded Ned. “We arrived a few minutes ago, and after engaging rooms at the hotel in the village we came down here. We thought that Lieutenant Parry might have arrived.”
“Why, no. I’ve just had a wire from him saying that he cannot get here till some time this evening. It seems to me,” went on Mr. Lockyer, surveying his guests with interest, “that you two lads must be the ones the newspapers call the ‘Dreadnought Boys.’”
“I guess we’ve occupied a good deal of valuable space to the exclusion of real news,” laughed Ned, coloring a little.
“Not to mention pictures,” grinned Herc. “They took one of me riding the ship’s goat. My freckles came out fine—like spots on the sun.”
“You’ll pardon my saying that you look very young to have distinguished yourselves so noticeably,” said the inventor.
“That’s what I say, sir,” struck in old Tom, in his deep, hoarse voice. “Why, I’ve bin in the navy fer forty years, in wood and steel, and nothin’ never happened to me the way it’s happened to them lads.”
“I guess it was just our luck,” laughed Ned good-naturedly; “you seem to have a splendid plant here, Mr. Lockyer,” he went on, by way of changing the subject. Ned was not one of those lads who likes to “blow his own trumpet.” Such swaggerers are usually found wanting when the time comes to try their metal.
“Yes; we’ve gone into the thing pretty extensively,” rejoined the inventor. “And now, perhaps, as your officers have not arrived, you would like to look over the plant. Have you ever seen a submarine before?”
“Yes, indeed,” replied Ned; “though I understand that your craft is far ahead of the ones we are at present using. On our return from Costaveza we were attached for a while to a ‘parent boat,’ and cruised around with the diving craft.”
“My type of submarine will do away with the parent boat,” declared Mr. Lockyer enthusiastically. “She has a cruising range of two thousand miles or more, if necessary. But there, you will think all that mere inventor’s enthusiasm. Within a week, however, I hope you will be able to see for yourselves what she is capable of.”
“Jer-uso-hosophat! If you’d told me ten years ago that we would be snoopin’ around the bottom of the ocean in such craft, I’d not have believed it,” declared old Tom, as they set out. “I’d have believed you could go to the bottom, all right; but I’d have likewise held that you’d stay there. But sence we’ve bin detailed to submarine dooty, I kin feel fins growing out o’ my shoulder blades, I relish being under so much.”
“Something fishy about that!” chuckled Herc.
While the boys are on their way across the busy yard let us introduce them more fully to the reader who has not already encountered them. Ned Strong and Herc Taylor, then, were two lads who, orphaned at an early age, had made their home for some years with a harsh, unsympathetic grandparent who owned a big farm at Lamb’s Corners, not far from Albany, New York. They had tired of the unceasing, monotonous round of farm duties, but could not very well see a way out of their hum-drum existence till one evening, in their local store, they saw one of the navy’s recruiting posters. They wrote for information to the Bureau of Navigation, and soon got replies that decided them as to their future careers. After a stormy scene with their crabbed relative, they set out for New York, their sole capital being some pocket money made by the sale of skins.
Assigned to the new Dreadnought battleship Manhattan, when they had passed their examination in New York, they at once plunged into some remarkable adventures. The Manhattan was ordered to Guantanamo for battle practice soon after the boys joined her. Of their experiences and many exciting adventures the readers can learn in the first volume of this series, “The Dreadnought Boys on Battle Practice.” Their signal services rendered when a flare-back occurred in a big-gun turret won them their promotions and medals from the government. This was only one of their many exciting and perilous adventures.
After a brief furlough they once more went to sea, this time aboard the destroyer Beale, which had been ordered to duty at Costaveza, a turbulent South American republic where a revolution was raging. While there they were able to distinguish themselves mightily by participating in some stirring naval engagements. These came about during their surprising cruise on a Costavezan destroyer. The final downfall of their old enemy, Hank Harkins, a ne’er-do-well from their native village, was also related in this volume, which is called, “The Dreadnought Boys Aboard a Destroyer.”
Although they had rendered American interests in Costaveza great service, the United States could not reward them, as the lads had been non-combatants, so far as theory was concerned. By way of recompensing them, however, they had been assigned to submarine work, the most interesting branch of the service to-day. On this duty they had once more encountered old Tom Marlin, who, the reader will recall, was their guide, philosopher and friend during their troublous early days on the Manhattan. Their commander, Captain Dunham, bearing the lads in mind, had later detailed them, with Lieutenant Parry, to the Lockyer secret tests. And garbed as we have seen, in ordinary clothes, the lads and old Tom had journeyed down to Grayport, expecting to meet there their superior officer.
As they left the tool-repair shop, Mr. Lockyer turned to Ned and remarked:
“And now we will see what some folks have called ‘Lockyer’s Dream.’”
He pointed to the long, narrow shed we have already noticed. The boys’ eyes sparkled with interested anticipation as they struck out with him across the yard. Old Tom, however, lingered. He had drawn out his inevitable black pipe and tried to light it. But in the brisk wind that was blowing he was compelled to seek the shelter of a small shack that stood, with open door, not far from the tool shed.
“Where’s your friend?” asked Mr. Lockyer, suddenly noting Tom’s absence from the party.
“Why, he——Oh, there he is!” cried Ned, who had just noted the ends of the old tar’s necktie floating out on the breezes as the mariner dodged into the shed.
“What’s he after in there?” asked the inventor in a sharp tone, staring back toward the shed into which Tom had dived.
“He’s lighting his pipe,” exclaimed Ned, craning his neck. “He——”
“WHAT!” roared the inventor in a shrill voice. His eyes seemed to distend and a look of alarm came over his face.
Before the Dreadnought Boys knew what was the matter he was off like a bullet from a rifle, crossing the yard in long jumps. In a few bounds he gained the shed, and, rushing into it, made straight for old Tom.
“Look! Look out there!” he exclaimed, pointing through the door in the boys’ direction.
Old Tom, somewhat astonished at the other’s vehemence, obediently glanced in the direction indicated. As he did so, Lockyer’s long fingers closed over the mariner’s and he seized the match from them and vigorously stamped it out. Then, with a quick movement, he caught the astonished tar by the scruff of the neck and the slack of his trousers, and, with a strength that the boys had never guessed he possessed, propelled that astounded mariner through the door and halfway across the yard. Arrived at a panting standstill, Mr. Lockyer seized Tom’s pipe from his mouth, and without a word of explanation chucked it clear over the high board fence and out of the place.
“Well! What the——” began old Tom; but the habit of discipline was strong upon him, and, muffling his resentment, he turned upon Mr. Lockyer. “Well, sir,” he began, “I don’t take that very kindly. You might hev warned me and——”
“Warned you!” shouted the inventor. “Great heaven, man, it might have been too late. Do you know what is stored inside that place where you lit the match?”
Tom shook his head, while the boys leaned eagerly forward.
“Gun-cotton!” was the startling rejoinder.
“Gun-cotton!” echoed Ned. “Then Tom might have——”
“Blown us all to kingdom come, and the boat, too,” declared the inventor, who had now recovered his composure, though his face was still pale. It was old Tom and the boys who were shaky now.
“Good gracious!” quavered Ned, not able to repress a shudder as he realized their narrow escape. “But why don’t you put up some sign,—” he asked, “something to warn any stranger of the dangerous contents of the shed?”
For answer Lockyer swung the open door closed, and they now saw clearly enough that, emblazoned in big white letters on its outside, was the inscription:
“Gun-cotton! Danger! Persons entering this shed will wear felt-soled shoes.”
“I’m going to find out who left that door open,” said the inventor grimly; “but in any event, smoking is forbidden on these premises. It’s too dangerous.”
“A good order, too,” assented Ned. But old Tom’s face bore a lugubrious look.
“It’s all right for you who don’t smoke and can’t be persuaded to, shipmates,” he muttered so that the inventor would not hear, “but me and my old pipe’s bin messmates fer a long time, an’ I hate to lose it.”
“Cheer up. You can easily find it outside,” comforted Herc; “but you’ll have to confine your smoking to the evenings after this.”
“Reckon that’s so,” assented Tom, immensely cheered at the thought that his pipe was not irrevocably lost.
“And now we’ll continue our stroll,” said Mr. Lockyer. “First let us visit the construction shed, which I imagine will prove the most interesting.”
So saying, he struck out rapidly across the yard, his long legs opening and closing like the blades of a pair of scissors. They could not have been a hundred yards from the shed when the ground shook and there came the sound of a muffled explosion. As the inventor came to a sudden halt, a startled look on his face, a chorus of excited shouts arose from within, and presently a white-faced boy came rushing out. He was followed by another workman and then another. Panic seemed to have seized them. They hardly noticed our astonished group as they sped by.
“Good heavens! something has happened to the boat!” gasped Mr. Lockyer, turning pale and his slender form shaking like a leaf. He clapped a hand to his head. In the face of the sudden emergency he seemed crushed.