“Say!” suddenly exclaimed Bill. “The gasoline! Didn’t we shut it off when we started to see what the trouble was?”
“We sure did,” agreed Tom.
“And we didn’t turn it on again, I’ll wager. Look at the tank valve.”
“That’s right!” cried Tom. “Here she comes now.”
Waiting a moment for the carburetor to fill, Bill once more swung the wheel over. They waited anxiously to see if it would continue, but with a wheeze it gave up as soon as the muscular impetus stopped.
“Carburetor troubles!” muttered Bill. “And that’s the worst kind to have in a storm. Well, there’s no help for it. Here goes to adjust it.”
As is well known, many carburetors require a different adjustment in rainy weather than in dry. It was so in this case. Bill screwed and unscrewed the air valve and readjusted the butterfly automatic. He admitted more gasoline, then less, giving a richer and then a thinner mixture. After each adjustment he tried the motor, but it was not until after about ten trials that, when both were on the point of giving up, suddenly the motor started.
“Hurray!” cried Tom.
“It’s about time,” murmured Bill. “She’s working better than ever now, though,” he said, as he listened to the machinery. “I’ll go take the wheel now. Watch her carefully, Tom,” and he went to the helm again. Once more they were under way, and their anxious eyes peered through the blackness.
The storm had been bad, but now it was worse. The swift dash of the rain formed a kind of mist. Tom’s heart sank as he heard Bill at the wheel utter a kind of impatient groan.