“Oh, dry up and get started!” exclaimed the other.
“Easy, boys,” counseled tall Jerry Hopkins. “This won’t get us anywhere. Is the gasoline really gone, Bob?”
“I guess it is,” answered the stout lad. “I did forget to have ’em put some in the tank, but I thought there was enough for the trip. Anyhow, you needn’t worry about starving. I put in a little sort of snack, as I thought we might get hungry on the way.”
A smile replaced the frown that had come over his face during the contention with Ned, and Bob brought forth from a locker a large box wrapped in paper.
“Look what he calls a little snack!” mocked Jerry, laughing. “There’s enough for a whole day’s rations.”
“Oh, not quite,” declared the stout lad. “This lake air gives me a wonderful appetite.”
“Never knew you to be without an appetite,” commented Ned, and his voice was more friendly. “I’ll take back some of what I said, Bob. But for the love of sulphur matches, what are we going to do? Eating, pleasurable as it is, isn’t going to move the boat.”
“I’ve a little gasoline in the can that I use for priming the cylinders,” returned Bob, after rummaging in the engine locker. “That might take us a little way.”
“Pooh! not a hundred yards,” scoffed Ned.
“Anyhow, lack of gasoline isn’t the only trouble,” went on Bob. “One of the cylinders doesn’t work. It began missing a while back, before the gas gave out. Even with a tank full I couldn’t run the boat until that’s fixed.”