When the two lads came on deck again Nat saw at once that they had bad news.
“We’re pretty nearly out of gasolene, Nat,” announced Joe ruefully; “none of us thought to look at the main tank before we started out, and now we’ve only a few gallons left. We’ve pumped that into the auxiliary, and I guess we can limp along a few knots on it.”
“Great mackerel! That’s nice!” exclaimed Nat, shoving back his cap and scratching his curly forelock, a way he had when perplexed. “This is sure our day for troubles,” he added with a grin.
“Well, gee-whillakers, I don’t see what else can happen right off,” declared Joe.
“Unless we bub-bub-blow up,” said Ding-dong ominously.
“Shucks, we haven’t gasolene enough even for that!”
“And there’s none nearer than the island,” put in Nat. “Tell you what, boys, it’s tough on Mr. Jenkins, but there’s no help for it. We’ll have to try and reach the island and then see what is best to be done.”
“Well, there’s one good thing—we have a reputable physician on board now instead of that old Sartorius.”
“Gug-gug-glory! I dur-dur-don’t believe he’s a dur-dur-doctor at all,” snorted Ding-dong.
“Unless he’s a horse doctor,” quoth Joe, “and then any self-respecting steed would kick those whiskers off him.”