Only Jack Benson's brown-haired head showed above the surface of the harbor, but his look was laughing, utterly care-free.
The boatmen who had allowed their craft to drift while waiting, now thrust out their oars, making quick time to where the submarine boy stood treading water.
In his sudden revulsion of feeling the inventor all but fainted. Jacob Farnum, his gnawing suspense over, felt as though his knees must give way under him. Then, by a mighty effort, just as the deafening cheering started, he led the race around the harbor.
"Here, you—Jack Benson!" gasped the yard's owner. "You come in here mighty quick! Give an account of yourself. What was wrong below?"
"Wrong?" hailed back Benson, standing in the bow of the shore boat as it made for shore.
"What were you doing down below, all this time?" demanded Mr. Farnum.
"Doing? Oh, Eph was taking a nap—"
"Taking a nap?"
"Hal was tinkering with the gasoline motor, and I was reading."
"Reading?" fumed Mr. Farnum. "What were you trying to do? Torment the life out of us?"