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Submarine Boys and the Middies

<h1>CHAPTER IX: TRUAX GIVES A HINT</h1> It was a tailor-made, clean, crisp and new-looking young submarine commander who stepped into the naval cutter alongside. Jack Benson looked as natty as a young man could look, and his uniform was that of a naval officer, save for the absence of the insignia of rank. Up the side gangway of the gunboat Jack mounted, carrying himself in the best naval style. On deck stood a sentry, an orderly waiting beside him. “Lieutenant Commander Mayhew will see you in his cabin, sir,” announced the orderly. “I will show you the way, sir.” Mr. Mayhew was seated before a desk in his cabin when the orderly piloted the submarine boy in. The naval officer did not rise, nor did he ask the boy to take a seat. Jack Benson was very well aware that he stood in Mr. Mayhew's presence in the light of a culprit. “Mr. Benson,” began Mr. Mayhew, eyeing him closely, “you are not in the naval service, and are not therefore amenable to its discipline. At the same time, however, your employers have furnished you to act, in some respects, as a civilian instructor in submarine boating before the cadets. While you are here on that duty it is to be expected, therefore, that you will conform generally to the rules of conduct as laid down at the Naval Academy.” “Yes, sir,” replied Jack. “As I am at present in charge of the submarine purchased by the United States from your company, and at least in nominal charge of the 'Farnum,' as well, I am, in a measure, to be looked upon, for the present, as your commanding officer.” “Yes, sir,” assented the boy. “You came aboard your craft, this morning, in a very questionable looking condition.” “Yes, sir.” Jack Benson's composure was perfect. His sense of discipline was also exact. He did not propose to offer any explanations until such were asked of him. “Have you anything to say, Mr. Benson, as to that condition, and how you came to be in it?” “Shall I explain it to you, sir?” “I shall be glad to hear your explanation.” Thereupon, the submarine boy plunged into a concise description of what had happened to him the night before. The lieutenant commander did not once interrupt him, but, when Jack had finished, Mr. Mayhew observed: “That is a very remarkable story, Mr. Benson. Most remarkable.” “Yes, sir, it is. May I ask if you doubt my story?” Jack looked straight into the officer's eyes as he put the question bluntly. An officer of the Army or of the Navy must not answer a question untruthfully. Neither, as a rule, may he make an evasive answer. So the lieutenant commander thought a moment, before he replied: “I don't feel that I know you well enough, Mr. Benson, to express an opinion that might be wholly fair to you. The most I can say, now, is that I very sincerely hope such a thing will not happen again during your stay at the Naval Academy.” “It won't, sir,” promised Jack Benson, “if I have hereafter the amount of good judgment that I ought to be expected to possess.” “I hope not, Mr. Benson, for it would destroy your usefulness here. A civilian instructor here, as much as a naval instructor, must possess the whole confidence and respect of the cadet battalion. I hope none of the cadets who may have seen you this morning recognized you.” Then, taking on a different tone, Mr. Mayhew informed his young listener that a section of cadets would board the “Farnum” at eleven that morning, another section at three in the afternoon, and a third at four o'clock. “Of course you will have everything aboard your craft wholly shipshape, Mr. Benson, and I trust I hardly need add that, in the Navy, we are punctual to the minute.” “You will find me punctual to the minute before, sir.” “Very good, Mr. Benson. That is all. You may go.” Jack saluted, then turned away, finding his way to the deck. The cutter was still alongside, and conveyed him back to the “Farnum.” “Mr. Mayhew demanded your story, of course?” propounded Hal Hastings. “What did he think?” “He didn't say so,” replied Jack Benson, with a wry smile, “but he let me see that he thought I was out of my element on a submarine boat.” “How so?” “Why, it is very plain that Mr. Mayhew thinks I ought to employ my time writing improbable fiction.” “Oh, Mayhew be bothered!” exploded Eph. “Hardly,” retorted Jack. “Mr. Mayhew is an officer and a gentleman. I admit that my yarn does sound fishy to a stranger. Besides, fellows, Mr. Mayhew represents the naval officers through whose good opinion our employers hope to sell a big fleet of submarine torpedo boats to the United States Government.” “Then what are you going to do about it?” asked Hal, as the three boys reached the cabin below. “First of all, I'm going to rummage about and get myself some breakfast.” “If you do, there'll be a fight,” growled Eph Somers. “I'll hash up a breakfast for you.” “And, afterwards?” persisted Hal. “I'm going to try to win Mr. Mayhew's good opinion, and that of every other naval officer or cadet I may happen to meet.” “Why the cadets, particularly?” asked Eph Somers. “Because, for one business reason, the cadets are going to be the naval officers of to-morrow, and the Pollard Submarine Boat Company hopes to be building craft for the Navy for a good many years to come.” “Good enough!” nodded Hal, while Eph dodged away to get that breakfast ready. Sam Truax lounged back in the engine room, smoking a short pipe. With him stuck Williamson, for Eph had privately instructed the machinist from the Farnum yard not to leave the stranger alone in the engine room. “Why don't you go up on deck and get a few whiffs of fresh air?” asked Truax. “Oh, I'm comfortable down here,” grunted the machinist, who was stretched out on one of the leather-cushioned seats that ran along the side of the engine room. “I should think you'd want to get out of here once in a while, though,” returned Truax. “Why?” asked the machinist. “Anything you want to be left alone here for?” “Oh, of course not,” drawled Truax, blowing out a cloud of tobacco smoke. “Then I guess I'll stay where I am,” nodded Williamson. “Sorry, but you'll have to stop all smoking in here now,” announced Eph, thrusting his head in at the doorway. “There'll be a lot of cadets aboard at eleven o'clock, and we want the air clear and sweet. You'd better go all over the machinery and see that everything is in applepie order and appearance. Mr. Hastings will be in here soon to inspect it.” “Just what rank does that young turkey-cock hold on board?” sneered Truax, when the door had closed. “Don't know, I'm sure,” replied Williamson. “All I know is that the three youngsters are aboard here to run the boat and show it off to the best advantage. My pay is running right along, and I've no kick at taking orders from any one of them.” “This is where I go on smoking, anyway,” declared Truax, insolently, striking a match and lighting his pipe again. Williamson reached over, snatching the pipe from between the other man's teeth and dumping out the coals, after which the machinist coolly dropped the pipe into one of his own pockets. “If you go on this way,” warned Williamson, “Captain Benson will get it into his head to put you on shore in a jiffy, and for good.” “I'd like to see him try it,” sneered Sam Truax. “You'll get your wish, if you go on the way you've been going!” “Humph! I don't believe the Benson boy carries the size or the weight to put me ashore.” “He doesn't need any size or weight,” retorted Williamson, crisply. “If Captain Benson wants you off this boat, it's only the matter of a moment for him to get a squad of marines on board—and you'll march off to the 'Rogues' March.'” “So that's the way he'd work it, eh?” demanded Sam Truax, turning green and ugly around the lips. “You bet it is,” retorted the machinist. “We're practically a part of the United States Navy for these few days, and naval rules will govern any game we may get into.” On that hint things went along better in the engine room. When Hal Hastings came in to inspect he found nothing to criticise. At the minute of eleven o'clock a squad of some twenty cadets came marching down to the landing in front of the boat house. There Lieutenant Commander Mayhew and one of his engineer officers met them. Two cutters manned by sailors brought the party out alongside, where Jack and Hal stood ready to receive them. A very natty looking squad of future admirals came aboard, grouping themselves about on the platform deck. It was rather a tight squeeze for so many human beings in that space. After greeting the submarine boys, Mr. Mayhew turned to the cadets, calling their attention to the lines and outer construction of the “Farnum.” Then he turned to the three submarine boys, signing to them to crowd forward. “These young gentlemen,” announced the lieutenant commander, “are Mr. Benson, Mr. Hastings and Mr. Somers. All three are thoroughly familiar with the Pollard type of boat. As the Navy has purchased one Pollard boat, and may acquire others, it is well that you cadets should understand all the working details of the Pollard Submarine Company's crafts. A few of you at a time will now step into the conning tower, and Mr. Benson will explain to you the steering and control gear used there.” Half a dozen of the cadets managed to squeeze into the conning tower. Jack experienced an odd feeling, half of embarrassment, as he explained before so many attentive pairs of eyes. Then another squad of cadets took the place of the first on-lookers. After a while all had been instructed in the use of the conning tower appliances. “Mr. Benson,” continued the lieutenant commander, “will now lead the way for all hands to the cabin. There he will explain the uses of the diving controls, the compressed air apparatus, and other details usually worked from the cabin.” Down below came the cadets, in orderly fashion, without either haste or lagging. Having warmed up to his subject, Jack Benson lectured earnestly, even if not with fine skill. At last he paused. “Any of the cadets may now ask questions,” announced Lieutenant Commander Mayhew. There was a pause, then one of the older cadets turned to Jack to ask: “What volume of compressed air do you carry at your full capacity?” “Mr. Benson's present status,” rapped Mr. Mayhew, quickly, “is that of a civilian instructor. Any cadet who addresses Mr. Benson will therefore say 'sir,' in all cases, just as in addressing an officer of the Navy.” The cadet so corrected, who was at least twenty-one years old, flushed as he glanced swiftly at sixteen-year-old Jack. To say “sir” to such a youngster seemed almost like a humiliation. Yet the cadet repeated his question, adding the “sir.” Jack quickly answered the question. Then two or three other questions were asked by other cadets. It was plain, however, that to all of the cadets the use of “sir” to so young a boy appealed, at least, to their sense of humor. Through the engine room door Sam Truax and Williamson stood taking it all in. Sam saw a flash in the eye of one big cadet when the question of “sir” came up. Presently the squad filed into the engine room. Here Hal Hastings had the floor for instruction. He did his work coolly, admirably, though he asked Jack Benson to explain a few of the points. Then the questions began, directed at Hal. This time none of the cadets, under the watchful eyes of Mr. Mayhew, forgot to say “sir” when speaking to Hastings. Sam Truax edged up behind the big cadet whose eyes he had seen flash a few moments before. “Go after Benson, good and hard,” whispered Truax. The cadet looked keenly at Truax. “You can have a lot of fun with Benson,” whispered Truax, “if you fire a lot of questions at him, hard and fast. Benson is a conceited fellow, who knows a few things about the boat, but you can get him rattled and red-faced in no time.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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