“Yes.”
“Then be sure and test the gasoline thoroughly.”
As Dick was rowed away he once more removed his hat ostentatiously in passing the launch. Ensign Glennie disregarded the mocking courtesy and motioned his boatman to place the launch close to the submarine.
“Take my grip, my man,” called Glennie to Gaines, standing up and tossing the suit case.
Gaines grabbed the piece of luggage. “Why didn’t you whistle, Mr. Glennie?” he asked, dropping the suit case down the open hatch of the conning tower and listening to the smash as it landed at the foot of the iron ladder. “We’re well trained and can walk lame, play dead, an’ lay down an’ roll over at a mere nod.”
The ensign ignored Gaines’ remarks. Climbing to the rounded deck he faced Bob Steele with considerable dignity.
In spite of the ensign’s arrogance there was about him a certain bearing learned only at Annapolis and on the quarter-deck of American warships—a bearing that predisposed Bob in his favor.
“We had a fight with a cachalot, Mr. Glennie,” said Bob, unbending a little, “and thought best to put in here and look the Grampus over to see if——”
“You were guilty of gross carelessness,” interrupted Glennie, “by risking the submarine in such a contest. But possibly you are ignorant of the fact that a bull cachalot has been known to attack and sink a full-rigged ship?”
“Vat a high-toned feller id is!” grunted Carl disgustedly. “He vill make it aboudt as bleasant on der poat as a case of measles.”