With gasoline from a small oil can, Walter injected some of the fluid into the cylinder through the pet cock.
"Now for it!" he exclaimed. "Cross your fingers everybody," and once more he did the street-piano act, as Ed termed it. The engine only sighed gently.
Walter gave a quick glance over his shoulder toward the bow.
"Is that forward switch in?" he asked a bit sharply.
"Oh!" exclaimed Cora, "I accidentally pulled it out when I removed the bulkhead to look at the battery connections. There," she added after a quick motion, "it's in, Walter."
"Now for it! Hold your breaths," ordered the engineer. There was a sudden motion to the wheel, a whizzing buzz, a churning of the water under the stern and the boat moved away.
"We'll have to have a regular schedule—gasoline, switch, ground-wire, pet-cocks primed—oil cups up, and all that sort of thing," murmured Cora as they glided swiftly onward. "I'll print it on a card and hang it near the engine."
"Thanks," whispered Walter, as he took the wheel. "Where to?" he asked.
"The bath house," suggested Ed. "Our togs are there."
Gracefully the craft approached the group of bath houses, whence the boys had started in their canoe that afternoon. But no lights gleamed out to welcome the returning ones.