The Submarine Boys on Duty | Page 5

quick
succession. To his intense astonishment Jack wasn't in the way of either

blow, but came in with a neck blow on Jaggers's left side that sent the
bully reeling to the gravel beyond the porch.
"Come right down here!" challenged the bully, hoarsely. "We'll find out
about this."
Jack Benson hesitated. He did not care about fighting. Yet, seeing that
Jaggers meant to have a final encounter, Jack dropped nimbly down to
the gravel.
Dan Jaggers rushed at him, both fists up on guard, his whole attitude
more cautious since he had had a taste of the smaller youth's quality.
Jack was about two inches shorter and fully thirty pounds lighter, but
he made one think of a dancing master as he skipped away before the
big fellow's rushes.
"Stand still, won't ye, drat ye?" roared Dan, driving in another heavy
blow.
But Benson dodged, then came in under the bully's guard, landing a
stinging blow on the tip of his nose. Under punishment Dan let out a
noise resembling the bellow of an angry bull. Glowering, he stood
uncertain, for a moment, but Jack was tantalizingly just out of his reach,
smiling confidently. Then Jaggers leaped forward, hopeful of winding
his arms around this foe and crushing him into submission. A second
later, however, Dan fell backward, yelling with pain, for Jack Benson
had landed a left handed blow just under his opponent's right eye,
partly closing it. Dan bent over double, still groaning.
"Well, I swan!" said the astonished Jabez Holt, in the doorway of his
hotel.
Jack stood his ground a few moments, watching until he felt sure that
his enemy did not intend to carry the affair further. Then the younger
boy stepped lightly back to the porch, standing just before the chair
from which he had lately been evicted.
"Just bear in mind, I'll git square with ye for this!" uttered Jaggers,

wrathfully, glaring at young Benson with his undamaged eye. Then he
turned and stalked away, muttering under his breath.
"Well, I swan!" remarked Jabez Holt again, now stepping out onto the
porch. "I guess that sartain done Dan Jaggers some good. He needs
some of that medicine, friends. An' say, here's Josh Owen coming up
from Farnum's boatyard."
Jack and Hal both turned quickly to gaze down the road at a man just
coming out through the gate of Farnum's yard.
"He's the man we want to meet," cried Jack Benson, breathlessly.
"I dunno," replied Mr. Holt, shaking his head, ominously. "I dunno as
it'll do ye much good, now. Dan Jaggers is Josh Owen's nephew and
favorite!"
CHAPTER II
THE FIGHTING CHANCE
"My type of torpedo boat is going to rule the seas in naval warfare,"
declared David Pollard, his eyes a-kindle with the enthusiasm of the
sincere inventor.
"I'm sure of it," replied Jack Benson, quietly. "That's why, Mr. Pollard,
Hal and I are so anxious to get into this work. Mr. Pollard, when your
type of submarine diving torpedo boat is understood by the United
States Government you'll need some reliable and intelligent experts.
Take us in now. Let us learn the work with you. Let us go ahead,
keeping pace with the progress in Pollard torpedo boats, and you will
never be sorry you have two young fellows you can depend upon."
"That's so, if you can come near to making as good as you promise,"
admitted the inventor, thoughtfully. "But you're pretty young."
"And that's the only fault with the Pollard submarine boat," rejoined
Jack Benson, artfully. "You've got to buck your boat against all the

older types that the Government already takes an interest in. Yet you
feel sure that you can do it. You don't believe the Pollard diving boat is
too young. Give us the same show you ask for your boat."
"Well, I've never seen any of your work--except these drawings,"
replied Mr. Pollard, indicating some sheets that lay on the table before
them.
The chums had succeeded in making the inventor's acquaintance
through the aid of the landlord. It was now eleven o'clock at night. Jack
and Hal had been in the inventor's room for the last three hours. Benson
had done most of the talking, though Hal had now and then put in some
effective words.
David Pollard was now thirty years of age, tall, lean and of pallid
countenance. He was a graduate of a technical school. Though not a
practical mechanic, he had a rather good lot of theory stored away in
his mind. He had inherited some money, soon after leaving school, but
this money had vanished in inventions that he had not succeeded in
marketing. Now, all his hopes in life were centered in the submarine
torpedo boat that was nearly completed. Pollard had had no money of
his own