Then something happened that brought the flush of anger to all their bronzed, honest young faces.
One of the outer doors opened, and Fred Radwin, catching sight of the submarine boys as he entered, hastened over to where they sat, a look of pretended sympathy on his handsome but snake-like face.
"Boys," he called, in a low voice, as all three rose as though to ward off blows, "it was only little while ago that I heard of the fearful accident. Poor Pollard! I want to tell you how heartily sorry I am to hear—"
"Stop right where you are, sir!"
Jack Benson's voice thundered out. The young submarine captain did not realize that he was using even more than a quarter-deck tone. Everyone in the lobby turned to look on. A few, more curious than the others, hastened to where the little group stood.
"What—what do you mean?" stammered Fred Radwin, looking mightily bewildered.
"In the future, sir," and Jack's voice barely fell, "do us the honor not to speak to us."
"What on earth—" protested Radwin.
"If you don't heed my request," Jack continued, angrily, "I don't believe I shall be able to curb my desire to land both fists in your face."
Radwin drew back before the darkening, menacing glare in the eyes of the young submarine captain.