“Not any more so than he was that time he fell into the well, I imagine,” laughed Ned. “Isn’t it wonderful, though, old fellow, to think that not more than a year ago we were doing fall plowing, and now here we are, down fifty—no fifty-two feet—under the waves——”
“And plowing along still,” grinned Herc, “but we’ve got 3,000 horse-power behind us now instead of being hitched on to that spavined old mare and the green, wall-eyed colt.”
Down below, the officers and Mr. Lockyer were here, there and everywhere; testing, tapping, trying. But there did not seem to be a hitch. Every joint was as tight as a drum under the terrific pressure now exerted on the steel sides, and, except for the “sweating” of the steel, the boat was as dry as a bone.
Stepping to the compressed-air gauges, the inventor scanned them carefully. One of them showed a slight decrease in pressure. Once more the electric radiators were put into action, expanding the air at once.
“How’s the engine?” asked Lieutenant Parry, pausing by Andy Bowler, as he bent above the shining, moving bits of mechanism, each sliding and flashing in and out at its own appointed time.
“Running sweet as a baby’s sleep, sir,” was the whimsical response; “we’ve got her well doused with oil, and there’s not a bearing that’s even warm.”
“Pretty good for a new engine, eh, Mr. Parry?” smiled Channing Lockyer.
“It is, indeed, sir,” was the response; “I must say, that from what I have seen, that your compressed-air engine has an electric one beaten fifteen ways for submarine use.”
“Well, there’s only one thing left to complete this part of the programme,” said the lieutenant, as they sank down on the comfortable leather-upholstered seats in the cabin.