“She’s a daisy,” he breathed, and the words, meaningless in themselves, conveyed his deep feeling. Then he dodged back again.
“Douse her with oil, boys,” he ordered his crew; “remember she’s new and her bearings are stiff.”
For some time they ran on thus, occasionally turning in wide circles and cutting figure-eights to test her general handiness. All at once the inventor turned an anxious face to the naval officers.
“Gentlemen,” he said, and his voice quavered strangely, “you have seen what she can do on the surface. But we must not forget that the Lockyer was built for diving.”
In the dim radiance shed by the binnacle they could see that Lockyer’s face was furrowed and ghastly. Yet he did not shrink from the supreme test.
“Is she ready to dive?” asked Lieutenant Parry, without a flicker of the smallest facial muscle. He might have been asking the most ordinary question.
“As ready as she’ll ever be,” was the rejoinder. “If you say the word, we’ll submerge her. I—I must know.”
“Very well, then,” was the hearty reply; “we’ll soon find out what sort of a fish the Lockyer is. Boys, get everything ready for diving. I’ll take the wheel.”
Ned sped below, and he and his comrades at once set about getting things in readiness for the great test. They had been well drilled in this ashore, and knew exactly what to do. First, the sailing lights were turned off. Then, in came the long, sky-pointing fingers of the periscope and the air tube.
In the engine room the heaters of the compressed-air containers were started up, and the gauges soon showed how the air was expanding under the heat. At a touch of a button fans were set whirring so as to keep the air pure as long as possible, and economise on their spare supply. Every bolt and rivet of the conning-tower and torpedo tubes were seen to. At last all was in readiness.