“Nonsense!” expostulated Mr. Stuart. “How could the wrecking of our engine have any connection with you, Countess?”
Old Jim who still stood blinking and stretching now began to vaguely grasp the situation.
“’Scuse me ladies,” he mumbled. “I spects I’se jest been nappin’ a little. I ain’t been ’zactly asleep.”
The “Automobile Girls” laughed, in spite of the difficulties which confronted them.
“Oh no, you haven’t been asleep,” Mr. Stuart assured him, “but that nap of yours was a close imitation of the real thing.”
Jim grinned sheepishly and hung his woolly head. “I ’low nothin’ bad ain’t happened, suh.”
“Something bad certainly has happened. In fact about as bad as it well could be, Jim,” declared Mr. Stuart. “Some wretch has tampered with the engine of our launch and left us high and dry on this lonely shore. We must do something and that something quickly. It’s getting late, and we don’t want to spend the night here, lovely as the place is. Where’s the nearest house or village?”
“Lor’, suh,” exclaimed old Jim. “This am a lonesome spot. There ain’t no village no wheres round heah!”
“But where is the nearest house, then?” demanded Mr. Stuart.
The darkey scratched his head reflectively.