Whether they did or not I will leave to the decision of those of you who have read the book. Suffice it to say that, eventually, Dr. Klauss, the commander of the submarine, though endeavoring in his insane fury to make an end of them all, was overpowered, and our friends reached safety.
A winter of comparative inactivity followed the lively times in the submarine, and now spring had come once more. The motor boys had made no plans for their vacation, but they had talked, more or less indefinitely, of a long trip to be taken, partly by auto, and partly aboard their new motor boat. Nothing had been settled, however.
The three, having no other engagement this Saturday afternoon, had gone to the ball game, for Cresville boasted of a good semi-professional team, and it was on their way back from this contest that I have introduced my new readers to them.
“I’m going to make the break, and ask Jerry what ails him,” decided Ned, as he watched his tall chum straighten up after taking a long drink at the spring.
“Yes, maybe it will be best,” assented Bob. “He surely isn’t himself. He’s been acting queerly for nearly a week. He seems to be in a sort of dream.”
“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “Well, maybe he won’t like me ‘butting-in’ on him, but we’ve been chums too long to stand off, and not help him when he needs it.”
Andy Rush, who had begged a ride with the three friends, had just run down the road in pursuit of a rabbit, so he was not within sound of the voices of the three chums. Andy was an excitable chap, who never did any one thing very long at a time. He was rather a “fly-away,” but Ned, Bob and Jerry liked him for all that.
“Feel better?” asked Ned, as his tall chum approached.
“Yes, that was fine water. But there wasn’t anything the matter with me,” replied Jerry, quickly, as he sensed Ned’s words. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Well, Jerry, old man,” spoke Ned, “it’s evident to both Bob and me that something is wrong with you. It isn’t like you to have such a near-collision as the one we just avoided, and also to nearly run over a dog, as you did a while back, isn’t a bit like you. Neither is it to see you so absent-minded.