"What's wrong?—everything," declared the exasperated man. "I bought this diabolical contraption ten days ago. Unpacked it—shoved it into a bath and started it up. First swing of the fly-wheel she fired—the wallpaper isn't dry yet, and my cat got a stream smack in her face. I haven't seen her from that day to this. Took the engine on board next day and tried again. Fire she wouldn't. Did every mortal trick I knew to get her to go—I've had twelve years experience with internal combustion engines. All that day I struggled with her; then I wrote off to the makers. They replied they'd send an expert down if I'd pay expenses."
He broke off his narrative to give a couple of vicious tugs at the fly-wheel. The motor remained silent and vibrationless.
"It does me good to get it off my chest," he continued breathlessly. "You lads interested?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply.
"Well, I made the makers a sporting offer. 'Send the expert down,' said I, 'and if he gets the brute to go within half an hour I'll pay. If he doesn't, you jolly well pay all expenses.' They agreed, and next day the expert comes over from Plymouth. 'Now then, my dear sir,' said I, 'get on with it.' Get on with it he did. He fiddled about for less than a minute, gave one pull at the fly-wheel and off she went like a Maxim gun. 'There you are,' he exclaimed. 'Give her sufficient petrol and I'll guarantee her to keep going for twenty-four hours.' That did me. I paid him up and back to Plymouth he went. Next morning I came on board to start her up. That was as far as it got. From that day to this I haven't got as much as a kick out of her—the obstinate mule!"
He took out the plug, "doped" it with petrol, and replaced it. Half a dozen swings produced no desired result.
"Close on forty pounds she cost me!" he exclaimed. "I've a jolly good mind to heave the blessed thing overboard."
"I wouldn't do that, sir," said Findlay.
The man gave him a swift glance. He was one of those easy-going moneyed men who act upon impulse.
The forty pounds was little or nothing to him. The motor, having aroused his resentment, was of no value in his eyes.