The commotion kicked up by the torpedo put a sudden and effectual stop to their speculations. Carl, Dick, and Speake were on deck when the Whitehead began its peculiar performance, and the jerks administered to the Grampus by the tow line quickly brought Gaines and Clackett up through the tower hatch.
"Ach, du lieber!" cried Carl. "See vonce vat has habbened mit der dorpeto. A vale has got dangled oop mit der tow line; oder oof id don'd vas a vale id vas a shark, und a pig feller, I bed you. Vat a funny pitzness! From der actions, id looks like der dorpeto vas alife."
"Whale!" scoffed Dick. "Don't you believe that a whale, or shark, either, has got anything to do with that."
"Vat it iss, den?"
"I give it up. What do you think, Speake?"
"Ask me something easy," answered Speake. "Mebby something has got loose inside the torpedo—compressed air, or something—and that that is what's putting the big tube through its jig."
"Led's pull in der line," suggested Carl, "und make der dorpeto pehave."
"Not on your life!" cried Dick. "It's full of dynamite, and I'll never let the Grampus get any closer to that infernal machine than she is now."
"Matt vants dot dorpeto or he vouldn't haf taken der drouple to tow her in."
"Matt can have it, matey, but I don't intend to board a Whitehead when it's dancing a hornpipe. If the dynamite should happen to let go——"