When McGrath had gone Jack leaned across the aisle to whisper:
"Eph, can you get at your sword handily—to draw it, I mean?"
"What's up?" said Eph, suspiciously.
"I want you to stick about a sixteenth of an inch of the point of your sword into me, so I can judge how long I've been dreaming."
"What's the matter with using your own sword?" demanded Eph, a trifle gruffly.
"That's just the trouble," smiled Benson, plaintively. "I'm afraid I'll wake up and find I haven't any."
Hal was leaning back in his parlor car chair, his eyes closed. He was dreaming delicious daydreams.
CHAPTER XIII
COMMANDER OF A U.S. GUNBOAT!
"Lieutenant Benson, sir?" inquired a coxswain, saluting.