"I thought of the four seasons," Polly explained. "Then I tried the water and ocean and all the words that mean the sea. I though of 'sea' last, and that was the word I wanted all the time."
"Tell another, Larry," begged Artie. "Tell an easy one that I can guess."
"What makes an engine stop when you count on her doing her prettiest?" Larry muttered half angrily. "It's dead she is."
Artie thought he was asking a riddle till he noticed that Larry was staring at the engine. That complicated affair of oily black plates and screws was coughing feebly, and as Artie looked at it that noise stopped. The boat began to drift.
"Dead!" pronounced Larry. "Well, I suppose I can start it with a little coaxing. Which one of you lads is after wanting to help me?"
All three of the boys and Jess hurled themselves forward with offers of help, but Larry selected Fred.
"The rest of you keep from falling overboard," he directed grimly. "I cannot be rescuing you in the middle of the ocean with a dead motor on my hands. If you fall over you have to sink or float without any help from me."
No one had the slightest desire to tumble into that lead-colored sea. It looked to be very deep where they were, and indeed they were out farther than they had ever been. The shore was a dim, indistinct line of gray.
Fred held Larry's tools for him, squinted obediently when told to "see if you can see where that screw has buried itself," and handed the oil can and waste rags as Larry demanded them.
"I don't know what's the matter with it, unless it is the heat," announced Larry, almost crossly. "Maybe she will start now."