"So do I," agreed Matt. He turned to Captain Pons. "The torpedo was fired at us, captain," he went on, "and it was by a happenchance, and at a considerable risk to myself, that I was able to save it and tow it in."
"He is mine, by gar!" cried the Frenchman.
"What good is the torpedo to you without the submarine?"
"Ma foi, I can sell heem. I save zat much."
"Any way you figure it," insisted Matt, "we're entitled to salvage on the torpedo."
"Nozzing, not one centime!" screeched Captain Pons, jumping up and down and flourishing his arms.
"Suppose I pay you the difference between the salvage and the cost of the torpedo?" asked Matt, willing to adjust the matter in any way that would secure peace.
"Non! I want ze torpedo, and zis talk of ze salvage is w'at you call boosh; oui, zat is all, nozzing but boosh."
There seemed no amicable way of settling the dispute. Matt, feeling that the Whitehead was of prime importance to the Grampus, was determined to stick to his contention.
He and Glennie stood up, and all on the steps of the casa turned their eyes downward to where the Grampus lay on the placid waters of the harbor, the long, black cylinder of the Whitehead some forty or fifty feet back of the stern.