Jerry arranged to take the first watch that night, and, after Bob had sat up with his chum for some time, while the boat glided past the distant villages on the shores of the lake, the stout youth began to yawn.
“Better turn in,” suggested Jerry. “I can manage until one o’clock, and then I’ll call you.”
“Will you—sure?” asked Bob.
“Sure. Go to bed.”
And Bob was glad enough to crowd into his bunk.
It was nearer two o’clock than one, as Bob learned by looking at his watch under his pillow, when he roused. Jerry had not called him; Bob had awakened by himself, and, to his surprise, the boat was not moving. Or, rather, she was not moving under the power of her engine. She was merely drifting.
Bob sat up, and peered into the motor compartment. He saw Jerry bending over the machinery.
“What’s up?” cried the stout lad, sliding out of his berth.
“Oh, you’re awake; are you?” asked the tall lad. “A little accident, that’s all.”
“Accident! Why didn’t you call me?” demanded Bob.