With everything in readiness, the nerves of all the interested persons present began to suffer from the suspense. Only the tireless band saved the day.
"Come along," said Jacob Farnum, at last. "It's a quarter of ten. We'll get up in our places."
Those who were going made a rush for the shed. The band leader, catching the enthusiasm, led his musicians, with a crash, into a triumphal march. Eph Somers slid, unobtrusively, into the shed. David Pollard turned to look at him keenly.
"I want to be on hand to help just a bit, if I can," murmured Eph, pleadingly, "and to wish the boat good luck as she strikes the water. My father used to work in this yard, and I worked here last summer."
"He's all right," nodded Mr. Farnum, so Eph got inside the shed.
The ladder rested against the hull; this was to be the last time that it would be used. David Pollard ascended, first, to the submarine's platform deck Farnum followed Then Grant Andrews went up. Last of all came Jack Benson and Hal Hastings. These were all who were scheduled to slide down the slippery ways with the "Pollard." But Eph was there, close at hand, consumed by an unquenchable desire to go, too. Nor was he wholly convinced that he wouldn't.
Outside, at one side of the shed, stood Lieutenant Jackson and the invited guests. On the other side were the members of the band.
On the platform deck, near the conning tower, were an outside steering wheel and the engine controls. Back of all were the funnels of the ventilators.
"Are you going to take the wheel, sir?" whispered Grant Andrews, to the inventor.
"I—I'm afraid I'm too nervous to," replied David Pollard, in an undertone. "You'd better take the wheel, Andrews."