Quatty, it had been agreed, was to be left behind, and was to make his way back to the coast with the canoes as soon as possible and apprise the Tarantula people of what had occurred. He silently watched the boys’ preparations with interest from a safe distance.
“Now, then, crank her up,” shouted Lathrop, as he threw in the spark on the control wheel and waited patiently for results as Billy turned and sweated at the self-starting apparatus.
“What’s the matter?” he demanded, as there was no answering explosion from the engine.
“I don’t know,” stammered Billy wiping his brow, “there doesn’t seem to be anything doing, does there?”
“What can be the matter?” exclaimed Lathrop, throwing out the switch and coming aft.
He examined the spark plugs in turn and found that they were sparking in perfect order. Next came an inspection of the carburettor—that, too, was in good trim. Evidently the reason for the failure to start was not there. Lathrop was puzzled, he had never known an engine to behave in such a mystifying way before. He went over it again part by part, carefully, and cranked it and rocked it till his arms were ready to drop off.
Suddenly an idea struck him—not so much for the reasonableness of it, but because he had examined about every other likely cause of failure to start.
“Well, Billy, you are a wonder,” he exclaimed in a vexed tone, when to his surprise he found that what he tried in desperation proved correct.
“What’s the trouble?” asked Billy cheerfully.
“Why you only forgot to open the gasolene valve, that’s all.”