“So there you are,” concluded his informer.
“Is the engine supposed to pump water up from the brook?” Tom asked.
“It isn’t supposed to do anything,” said the other, “it used to be supposed to, but it’s retired.”
“I thought Germany was so efficient,” said Tom. “I should think they’d fix it. Can’t it be fixed?”
“Not by anyone here, it seems. You see, they won’t let us have any tools—wrenches, or files or anything. If you mention a file to Old Griff, he throws a couple of fits. Thinks you want to cut the barbed wire.”
“Then why don’t they fix it?”
“Ah, a question. I suppose they think the exercise of trotting down to the brook will do us good. I dare say if the chief engineer could get hold of a file he could fix it; seems to think he could, anyway. But gas engines are funny things.”
“You’re right they are,” said Tom, thinking of the troop’s motor boat away home in Bridgeboro. “Of course, I don’t mind the walk down there,” he added, “only it seemed kind of funny——”
“It’s tragic for some of these lame fellows.”
“Who is the chief engineer,” Tom asked.