“It will be for me, if you can fix the engine,” said the captain, “but I don’t see any reason for you holding a service of thanksgiving.”
“I’ll explain about that later,” said Nat. “Now let’s go below, or wherever this engine is, and I’ll do my poor best to get it started up again for you.”
“Bully for you, my young rooster,” cried the bluff old captain, clapping the boy on the back. “Come this way. Right down the hatch here. Look out for the ladder, it’s steep.”
Descending a steep flight of stairs which the captain referred to as “a ladder,” Nat found himself in a cozy, well-lighted cabin, the illuminant being an oil lamp which had been lighted by the captain when the dynamo failed. There were book shelves, easy-chairs and plenty of minor comforts all about. Evidently the Lightship men made themselves as comfortable as possible in their lonely post.
Nat now saw that his host was a ruddy-faced, stout old seaman, weather-beaten and bluff. A peculiarity in his gait was now also explained, for Nat saw that one of his legs was a wooden one. But he had small time to dwell on these details, for the captain ushered him into a compartment opening off the “sitting room,” if it can be so called, which smelled of oil and machinery.
“Thar she is. Thar’s the ornary, all-fired, cussed critter that won’t turn a wheel fer old Cap’n Sim,” he said indignantly, holding aloft a lamp.
Nat looked the engine over. It was a stationary gasolene affair of about twenty horse power. Taking the lamp from the captain he examined it carefully.
“Why, so far as I can see, a loose nut on the sparker has caused your trouble,” he said, setting down the lamp, “but we’ll soon make sure.”
The boy took a wrench from the tool-rack and tightened up the loose part. Then, throwing the switch, he tested for a spark and found that it appeared to be all right. With a turn of the flywheel he started the engine, a welcome “pop” greeting his first effort. In a few seconds he had the engine whirring steadily away and the dynamo purring as it resumed work.
“Glory be!” shouted the skipper, dancing about on his good leg. “Boy, you’re a genius, that’s what you are. Now, let’s go on deck and start up the lights again. It’s a wonder my hair hasn’t turned gray from worriment, but everything’s all right now, thanks to you, my bucko.”