Jack, knowing that the boat was in fine professional hands,
slipped unconcernedly below, to chat with Hal Hastings, who sat doggedly
by his engines.
"What's the matter? What makes you look so solemn, old fellow?" asked
the young submarine skipper, when he caught sight of his chum's solemn
face.
"Oh, you'd laugh, if I told you," smiled Hal.
"Seeing omens of ill again!" persisted young Benson.
"I suppose," sighed Hal, "well, I have a sort of premonition."
"Pre--premo--" stuttered Captain Jack, holding comically to the port
side of his jaw. "Oh, pshaw! Call it a plain United States 'hunch.'
What's the tip the spooks are giving anyway, Hal?"
Hastings smiled again, though he went on:
"Oh, it's just a queer sort of notion I have that something is going to
happen to us this afternoon."
"Right-o," drawled Jack. "You don't have to shove off from that, Hal.
Something is going to happen to us. This afternoon we're going to have
the first drill in the actual firing of submarine torpedoes."
"Oh, I know that," Hastings admitted, quickly.
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