“That’s right,” replied Anderson; “but waiting to get even is a tiresome job.”
“Yes, but vengeance is all the sweeter for being bottled a while,” chuckled Tom Gradbarr, as he sent the boat spinning through the water in the direction from which she had come. This lay up a channel, stretching east and west inside the narrow sand spit, which separated the calm waters of Grayport Harbor from the open Sound.
The inlet reached for several miles up the coast, terminating in a shallow bay dotted with small, barren islands. In the summer there was a bungalow colony here, but at this time of year it was deserted. As they reached the islands and began threading their way among them, a blue light suddenly was seen waving through the darkness.
“There’s Ferriss now,” exclaimed Gradbarr, setting his course for the signal. “I’ll bet he’s wondering if we have a passenger on board.”
CHAPTER XIV.
A “BIG LEAGUE” REPORTER.
The next morning nobody was astir on the submarine till long after the sun had risen and was shining brightly down on the sparkling waters of Sound and harbor. When Ned and Herc climbed out of the conning tower for a look about them, the beach about the yard, however, was already dotted with curious sight-seers, some of them armed with field glasses, the better to see what was going forward on the submarine.
The launching of the Lockyer had furnished the biggest excitement that Grayport had known for a long time. The early train had brought into town several staff correspondents from New York evening papers, the local men at Grayport having all telegraphed in “stories” the night before.
As Ned and Herc stood gazing shoreward, they saw a gasoline launch, which plied for hire, put out from one of the wharves. Several passengers could be seen on board her, some of whom carried square black boxes and other paraphernalia.