Joe got fresh spark plugs from the locker where the extra parts were kept, and, while Ding-dong fitted them, he started adjusting the carburetor which had been so skillfully tampered with. They were in the midst of this work when the tall form of Dr. Sartorius appeared in the doorway between the cabin and the engine room.
“What is the matter? What has happened?” he asked, as if noticing for the first time the stoppage of the engines.
“The motor stopped, that’s all,” spoke up Joe sarcastically.
“Dear me, in this storm that might have been serious,” said the doctor, holding on to the casement of the doorway to steady himself.
“I guess the fellow that did it didn’t know that we might all have gone to the bottom, or maybe he’d have thought a second time,” sputtered Joe, red-hot with indignation and not caring a snap if he showed it. He stared straight at the other as he spoke, and he could have sworn that under his steady, accusing gaze the doctor paled and averted his eyes.
“But you have it fixed now?” inquired the doctor after a second, ignoring Joe’s peppery remark.
“Oh, yes, we’ve got it fixed all right, and we’ll take precious good care it doesn’t get out of order again for any cause,” exploded Joe; “and another thing, doctor, we boys regard this engine room as private property. Will you please retire to the cabin?”
With a shrug of his shoulders, the doctor turned, and Joe shut and locked the door behind him.
“We’ll have no more meddling on board here,” he muttered.
In a few minutes Ding-dong announced that all was ready to try the motor once more. Joe switched on the electric self-starting appliance and the cylinders began to cough and chug welcomely. But it took some time longer to get them properly adjusted. At last the task was completed, however, and once more the Nomad was able to battle for life. No longer a helpless plaything of the giant rollers, she fought them gallantly, with her heart beating strong and true again.