Clay, still grinning, dropped down again into the hold and resumed his tinkering with air and oil tubes. He straightened up at last, and gave a sigh of satisfaction as his ear caught a new note in the throbbing exhaust, a low, mellow throb, throb, throb, regular and even. He had at last secured the right mixture of oil and air for the motor. He filed little notches on the air and oil cocks so that in the future the proper adjustments of air and oil could be made at a moment’s notice. This done, he climbed out of the hold and made his way forward.
“Well, how’s she doing?” he asked of the downcast two.
Alex tried to answer brightly. “She seems to go a wee mite slower than she used to, but maybe she’ll do better when the new engine gets limbered up a bit.”
“It feels dandy to be out in the Rambler once more, doesn’t it?” put in Case, hurriedly.
Clay turned aside to hide his grin. “Isn’t that the Dingbat coming down on us from ahead?” Didn’t we used to be able to outrun her?”
“No, she always used to beat us a little,” Alex said, gloomily.
“Well, it’s time we were turning back anyway,” Clay observed. “When she gets past you, Case, turn around and follow her.” He walked back to the hold grinning at the scraps of conversation that followed him.
“Think of him wanting to race the Dingbat, with this one-mule water wagon.”
“And the Dingbat is one of the swiftest motor boats around here.”
“Think of our hoping that he would tumble to his mistake by degrees and not get so rough a jar.”