“I reckon that puts a stop to the work that brought the Grampus here,” said the consul.
“Not at all,” replied Bob. “The Grampus is at the service of the government within an hour, if necessary.”
“But who’s in charge of the boat?”
“I am.”
Mr. Hays Jordan looked Bob over, up and down, and started to give an incredulous whistle. But there was something in the youth’s bearing, and in the firm, gray eye that caused him to quit whistling.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “Pretty young to be skipper of a submarine, aren’t you?”
Here Dick interposed. “He’s old for his age, if I do say it, and Captain Nemo, junior, is a master hand at taking the sizing of a fellow. He selected Bob Steele to engineer this piece of work, and, if you keep your weather eye open, it won’t be long until you rise to the fact that the captain knew what he was about.”
“The captain ought to have a doctor without loss of time,” interposed Bob, impatient because of the time they were losing, “and he must have a place to stay.”
“We’ll not send a sick man to the hotel,” said Mr. Jordan, “but to a boarding house kept by an American. And we’ll also have an American doctor to look after him.” He slapped his hands. In answer to the summons a negro appeared from inside the house. “Go over to Doctor Seymour, Turk,” said the consul, “and ask him to come here.”