THE MEETING IN THE HARBOR.

Events in this world, no matter how seemingly incomprehensible, usually happen for the best.

If the Grampus had not had her fight with the cachalot she would not have put in at Port-of-Spain, and if Ensign Glennie had not lost his dispatches he would not have put in there, either.

The damage to the fore-rudder had been insignificant. Some of the iron bars protecting the rudder had been twisted and bent by the whale's flukes, and Motor Matt had repaired the damage while coming through the Boca Drago into the gulf.

The submarine was riding high in the water a quarter of a mile off shore, the Stars and Stripes fluttering gayly from the little flagstaff forward. A small boat was in the water and a colored boatman was rowing two lads around the bow of the Grampus. Three men and another boy were forward on the submarine's deck, evidently assisting in an examination of some sort.

Glennie had the skipper of the launch lay alongside the small boat.

"Hello, there!" called Glennie. "Is that boat the Grampus?"

"Yes," replied one of the lads in the other boat.

"I'm looking for Matt King, otherwise Motor Matt."

"You mean you're looking at him and not for him. I'm Motor Matt."

"Well, I'm Ensign Glennie. What the dickens are you doing at Port-of-Spain?"

"What the dickens are you doing here? We were to pick you up at Georgetown."

"What I'm doing here is my business," said Glennie, stiffening. "I wasn't expecting you for two or three days yet, and expected to be in Georgetown by the time you got there."

Matt stared at the haughty young man in the trim uniform. Dick Ferral, who was in the boat with him, gave a long whistle.

"Then," said Matt coolly, "I guess our reason for being here is our own business. We were expecting to find a midshipman, Glennie, and not——"

"Mister Glennie," struck in the ensign. "I'm a passed midshipman and a commissioned officer."

Dick got to his feet, pulled off his cap, and bowed.

"Mister Glennie!" he exclaimed, with an accent on the "mister" that was not entirely respectful. "Our brass band has been given shore-leave, so we can't muster the outfit and play you aboard. It's a little bit hard, too, considering our limited number, to dress ship."

A smothered laugh came from the deck of the Grampus. Glennie stared at Ferral, and then at Speake, Gaines, Clackett, and Carl. The latter, grabbing the flag halyards, dipped the ensign.

"Oof ve hat a gannon, Misder Glennie," yelled Carl, "ve vould gif der atmiral's salute."

A flush ran through the ensign's cheeks.

"Who is that person, King?" demanded Glennie, pointing to Dick.

"Mister King," corrected Matt. "This, Mr. Glennie," proceeded the king of the motor boys with mock gravity, "is my friend, Mr. Dick Ferral. The Dutchman on the boat is another friend—Mr. Carl Pretzel. The hands are Mr. Speake, Mr. Gaines, and Mr. Clackett. This colored gentleman is Mr. Scipio Jones. Now that we are all acquainted, Mr. Glennie, may I ask you if you are coming aboard to stay?"

"I am," was the sharp rejoinder. "Those were my orders from the captain of the Seminole."

Matt caught a rope which Carl threw to him and stepped to the rounded deck of the Grampus.

"The submarine's all right, Dick," said he, "and hasn't a dent in her anywhere. Go ashore and get the gasolene. Have you the hydrometer in your pocket?"

"Aye, aye, matey," answered Dick.

"Then be sure and test the gasolene thoroughly."

As Dick was rowed away he once more removed his hat ostentatiously in passing the launch. Ensign Glennie disregarded the mocking courtesy and motioned his boatman to place the launch close to the submarine.

"Take my grip, my man," called Glennie to Gaines, standing up and tossing the suit case.

Gaines grabbed the piece of luggage. "Why didn't you whistle, Mr. Glennie?" he asked, dropping the suit case down the open hatch of the conning tower and listening to the smash as it landed at the foot of the iron ladder. "We're well trained and can walk lame, play dead, an' lay down an' roll over at a mere nod."

The ensign ignored Gaines' remarks. Climbing to the rounded deck he faced Motor Matt with considerable dignity.

In spite of the ensign's arrogance there was about him a certain bearing learned only at Annapolis and on the quarterdeck of American warships—a bearing that predisposed the king of the motor boys in his favor.

"We had a fight with a cachalot, Mr. Glennie," said Matt, unbending a little, "and thought best to put in here and look the Grampus over to see if——"

"You were guilty of gross carelessness," interrupted Glennie, "by risking the submarine in such a contest. But possibly you are ignorant of the fact that a bull cachalot has been known to attack and sink a full-rigged ship?"

"Ach, vat a high-toned feller id iss!" grunted Carl disgustedly. "He vill make it aboudt as bleasant on der poat as a case oof measles."

Matt frowned at Carl.

"It was either sink the cachalot or run the risk of being stove in," said Matt. "We'll have to have a little talk, Mr. Glennie, so you had better go below to the periscope room."

The ensign nodded, climbed over the top of the tower, and disappeared.

"That there uniform makes him top-heavy, Matt," scowled Clackett. "The quicker you pull some o' the red tape off o' him the better it'll be for all of us."

"He's all right, boys," said Matt, "and I'll bet he's a good fellow down at the bottom. He forgets he's not on the Seminole, that's all."

When Matt got down into the periscope room he found Glennie examining one corner of the suit case, which was badly smashed.

"I regret to note, Mr. King," said he, "that there is a serious lack of discipline aboard this boat. Such a thing could never be tolerated in the service. We are to take a long and hazardous journey, and I shall insist on having the men keep their places."

"You are not here to insist on anything, Mr. Glennie," replied Matt, coolly placing himself on one of the low stools that were used as seats. "My own duties, and yours, are pretty clear in my mind. Let's see if I have the situation exactly as you understand it.

"The owner of this boat, Captain Nemo, Jr., is recovering from a sick spell in Belize, and he has sold the Grampus to the United States Government for one hundred thousand dollars, conditional upon the submarine's being taken around the Horn and delivered safely to the commandant at Mare Island Navy Yard, San Francisco. For this long cruise I have been placed in charge of the boat. You are aboard as representative of the government, merely to observe her performance. Have I got it right?"

Glennie nodded.

"Upon my report," said he, "will largely depend the acceptance or rejection of the craft when she reaches Mare Island. Don't overlook that point. A lack of discipline will get us all into trouble, and may result in the loss of the——"

"I will attend to the discipline," said Matt stiffly. "If the boat behaves well, you can find no fault with the way I manage her. I must ask you not to bother me with any remarks as to how the Grampus is to be run. I and my friends are not in the naval service, but we all know the submarine perfectly and understand what is expected of us.

"The cruise we are to make is one that no submarine ever made before. It is full of dangers, and unforeseen difficulties are going to bob up and will have to be dealt with. The Grampus is equal to the work, and in due time she will be delivered to the commandant at Mare Island, but I want, and will insist on having, a perfectly free hand. A friendly footing is what I desire among all on board, more than anything else."

Matt smiled and stretched out his hand.

"Just a minute, Mr. King," said Glennie, pursing up his lips. "I understood that I was to be here in an advisory capacity. From your talk I take it that you consider yourself the whole works, and that I am to play the rÔle of an innocent bystander."

"I am to manage the boat," returned Matt firmly.

"Then," cried Glennie, "if you get us into serious difficulties, I am to say nothing, but bear the brunt of your mistakes along with the rest of the men?"

"Do you know anything about submarines?"

"A graduate of Annapolis is equipped with all the knowledge he can possibly need in his work."

"Theoretical knowledge," qualified Matt. "Have you ever had any practical experience on a submarine?"

"No."

"Then, if I get into difficulties, I don't think you could give any advice that would help us out."

The ensign bowed coldly.

"Have you a cabin reserved for me?" he inquired.

Matt nodded toward a bulkhead door leading to a steel room abaft the periscope chamber.

"We have fixed up a place in there for you," said he.

"Then, inasmuch as I am a passenger, I will proceed to eliminate myself and keep out of your way."

Without taking Matt's hand he picked up his suit case and started. At the door he paused while a hail came down from the hatch.

"Hello dere, vonce! Matt!"

"What is it, Carl?" answered Matt.

"Dere iss a Chink feller alongsite, und he say dot he vant to see Misder Glennie."

"A Chinaman!" muttered Glennie, pausing. "Why does he want to see me?"

"Vell, he say dot he tell you somet'ing aboudt a feller mit der name oof Dolo, und——"

A shout of joy escaped Glennie, and he dropped his suit case and jumped for the ladder.

"Wait, Mr. Glennie," said Matt, "and I'll have the Chinaman come down."

"Very good," said Glennie, smothering his impatience and dropping down on the locker.