“You certainly ought to know where the ginger comes from,” said Jim, in the same bantering spirit.
“Well, I guess I do, if anybody asks you, Mr. Barlow,” she returned, saucily. “But that’s no sign I knew there was a Jamaica Bay in New York State. My geography didn’t teach me that.”
“Of course it did,” taunted the boy, “but you did not take the trouble to remember it.”
Further discussion of this unimportant subject was cut short by a crash from the engine-room of the yacht, followed by a hissing noise as of escaping steam, and the propeller, which was being driven at many thousands of revolutions per minute, began suddenly to slow up.
A shriek from Aunt Betty drew Dorothy quickly to her side, while Mr. Ronald cried out:
“Something has happened to the engine!”
Then he made a dash below decks, followed by Dr. Sterling, and, a few seconds later, by Jim, who saw in the yacht’s misfortune another opportunity to satisfy his mechanical curiosity.
The boy reached the engine-room directly on the heels of Mr. Ronald and Dr. Sterling, and saw the engineer and his assistant flat on their backs trying to locate the trouble.
“Something apparently broke inside her, sir,” the engineer was saying, in response to a question from Mr. Ronald. “I can’t say how serious it is till we find it, sir.”