“Explosion—carburetor,” was the short answer of one of the cadets. At last the time-honored rule of an upper classman’s not speaking to a cadet, outside of the Academy grounds, had been broken. But there was good excuse for it.
“Hurry up! Get me aboard! I don’t want to be burned!” cried Clarence, and brushing aside some of the cadets he had invited to ride in his motor boat, he fairly jumped into the rowing craft.
“Easy there!” was Tom’s caution, as the barge rocked and swayed under the impact.
“The cad!” murmured one of the upper classmen under his breath, as he shot a vindictive look at Clarence. The latter had saved himself, at any rate. He was not a very gallant host, to say the least.
“Let the boat go, fellows!” he called. “Save yourselves!”
“Can’t you put out the fire?” asked Tom.
“We used up all the chemical extinguisher there was on board,” explained one of the cadets. “I guess she’ll have to burn.”
The gasoline was burning and flickering under and about the flooded carburetor. At any moment it might run along the copper supply pipe, or melt it. The tank would then explode.
“Guess we can’t do anything more, fellows,” said one of the cadets, regretfully enough, for the motor boat was a fine craft.
“No, get aboard,” Tom said. “If we only had some sand we might put it out.”