She shook her head, puzzled. Nothing seemed to be wrong with it. Suddenly she turned to him.
"Where's your gas-tank?" she demanded.
"Forward. But you needn't look there. There's plenty. I filled it—"
She seized the lantern and began climbing over the trunks; she was not going to take the word of an incompetent. Her white gown suffered dismally as she scrambled in the direction of the gasoline-tank, and she had a sinking sensation that the spectacle afforded to the boatman was lacking in dignity. But she was determined, and tried to comfort herself with the thought that it was quite dark.
She located the tank and unscrewed the cap. The aperture was large enough to admit her hand and arm; in she plunged them resolutely. The tank was nearly full. She replaced the cap and crawled aft again.
Then the boatman did a strangely considerate thing. He turned his back and pretended to be doing something to the engine, while Miss Chalmers slipped down from the trunks and shook her skirt about her ankles. She made a mental note of it.
"Where does your gas-line run?" she asked briskly.
"Gas-line?"
"Oh, the pipe that connects the tank with the engine!" she cried in exasperation. "Don't you know anything?"
The boatman grinned cheerfully.