“I guess it’s time we scooted,” remarked the sailor. “The storm’s going to break sooner than I expected. The glass is falling rapidly. Put for shore, boys.”
Jerry went forward to start the engine, which had been stopped. He turned the gasolene and spark levers, and Bob threw over the wheel. There was no answering explosion.
“Once more,” Jerry said.
Again Bob turned. The wheel spun around under his efforts, but there was no chug-chug.
“Queer,” muttered Jerry. “What’s the trouble? She never acts like this unless something’s the matter. Ned, see if we have plenty of gasolene.”
Ned sounded the tank in the bow.
“Well?” inquired Jerry, as Ned seemed to be at the operation longer than was necessary.
“There isn’t any.”
“Isn’t any?”