When he went to bed, late that night, he slept some, yet
it was mainly to dream hideous dreams.
In the early morning Rhinds sent for morning newspapers. These contained
what he had said to local reporters, but his version, with the
newspapers' comments added, only made matters worse. "That infernal
'Gazette,'" in especial, printed, in bold type, the account of his
refusal to let a committee of newspapermen examine his boat for a
secret hiding place large enough to hold an extra torpedo.
That forenoon shore boats did a thriving business in carrying people out
on trips around the Pollard and Rhinds submarines. Trains brought in
folks from other towns, all anxious for a glimpse of the submarine craft.
"This will drive me wild, yet," groaned Mr. Rhinds. "It's an outrageous
shame."
Still, there was little realization, on his part, that he deserved all
this, and more.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Jack, my boy," muttered Jacob Farnum, looking up from a batch of
morning newspapers in the cabin of the "Hastings," "You've been the
means of stirring up a bigger hurricane than ever raged at sea.
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