"But who's in charge of the boat?"
"I am."
Mr. Hays Jordan looked Matt over, up and down, and started to give an incredulous whistle. But there was something in the youth's bearing, and in the firm, gray eye that caused him to quit whistling.
"Well!" he exclaimed. "Pretty young to be skipper of a submarine, aren't you?"
"Belay a bit, sir," spoke up Dick. "He's old for his age, if I do say it, and Captain Nemo, Jr., is a master hand at taking the sizing of a fellow. He selected Motor Matt to engineer this piece of work, and, if you keep your weather eye skinned, it won't be long until you rise to the fact that the captain knew what he was about."
"The captain ought to have a doctor without loss of time," interposed Matt, impatient because of the time they were losing, "and he must have a place to stay."
"We'll not send a sick man to the hotel," said Mr. Jordan, "but to a boarding house kept by an American. And we'll also have an American doctor to look after him." He slapped his hands. In answer to the summons a negro appeared from inside the house. "Go over to Dr. Seymour, Turk," said the consul, "and ask him to come here."
"We might be able to save time," put in Matt, "if my friend went with your servant and took the doctor directly to the submarine."
"Fine!" exclaimed the consul, and Dick and the negro hurried away.
"Sit down, my boy," said the consul, waving his hand toward a chair, "and we'll palaver a little. I don't reckon I ought to say much to you until I talk with Captain Nemo, Jr., and make sure everything is right and proper. Still——"