"I reckon it's all settled except the signing of the papers," ventured
Hal Hastings.
"The toe of the boot for ours, then, or as bad," murmured Eph Somers sardonically.
During these days David Pollard, the inventor who had made this splendid type of submarine boat possible, did not appear. For one thing, he was away in secret, pondering over the invention of further appliances to be tried out on the boat now building. More than that, David Pollard, shy and with no head for affairs, entrusted all new business arrangements to Jacob Farnum, who, he felt sure, could be trusted with a friend's interests.
"It's tough to be poor," grimaced Hal Hastings. "If I had the money, I'd put it into the business for the sake of keeping my berth aboard, and having things as pleasant as we've had 'em all along."
"So would I," grunted Eph. "But what's the use of talking, when this is all the capitalist that I am?"
He took out four paper dollars, passing them ruefully between his fingers.
"Why don't you say something, Jack?" demanded Hal. "Dry of words, for once?"
"I'm thinking," responded young Benson, absently.
"Well, it's a sure thing that thinking does less harm than talking," nodded Hal.
"But when a fellow's silent he can't spit out all that's boiling inside of him," snorted Eph Somers.