A gentle swell rocked the boat, and their heads bobbed together. She paid no attention.
"You cut it off when you jammed my grip under there," she said tersely.
"There! Now I've turned it on again. The idea is that a gasoline-engine always runs better when supplied with gas. Now spin that fly-wheel!"
The boatman went aft and obeyed. The engine started joyfully. The launch moved. Miss Chalmers resumed her seat and surveyed her costume by the yellow light of the lantern.
"Now you take me to Witherbee's Island as quickly as you know how—if you do know," she observed.
The boatman made no answer. When the launch had obtained headway he altered the course, and presently they were passing through a series of narrow channels, between darkened islands. He seemed to know where he was going, but Miss Chalmers had no confidence in him. She was merely relieved to observe that they were going somewhere. Presently they headed in toward a wooded island that was dark, save for a tiny light that flickered at the water's edge. As they neared the shore the boatman made his first remark since the engine had resumed wheezing.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to know—"
"I haven't run a six-cylinder car for nothing," interrupted Miss Chalmers sharply. "Is this the dock?"
For answer he stopped the engine and guided the boat alongside a low wharf, at the end of which burned the lantern they had seen.
"Witherbee's Island," he said as he reached to help her ashore.