Arnold colored as he murmured a response and then introduced Frank Lamson. Phebe nodded shyly and Toby clambered aboard the Frolic. The two boys then followed him as he tested the engine by throwing the spark on and turning the wheel a few times. There was no response from the cylinders and Toby disconnected the wires from the spark-plugs and grounded them against the engine one at a time. He got sparks from three of the four, and, after he had cleaned the fourth plug, from all of them. An examination of the carbureter followed leisurely, Toby whistling softly all the time. Presently he followed the gasoline supply pipe back from engine to tank, having to raise the locker covers to do so, and at last, snapping the door of the forward locker shut again, he faced Arnold with a satisfied nod.
“Got it,” he said.
“Really? What was the trouble?” asked the Frolic’s skipper.
“Nothing much. I can fix it in a minute.”
“Go ahead, then,” said Frank Lamson, with a scowl. “We’re in a hurry, I tell you.”
Toby observed him ruminatively for a moment, and then turned his gaze to Arnold. “I’m still whistling, you see,” he said, and to prove it went on with his tune.
“Don’t be a fool,” begged Arnold. “If you can fix it——”
“Won’t take me a minute—after I get started,” was the untroubled reply. Toby reached up and took off his hat. “You might just take another look at my hair,” he continued pleasantly. “When the sun isn’t on it’s quite a bit darker, I think.”
“Toby!” exclaimed Phebe, in a shocked voice.
Arnold flushed and stammered. “What’s that got to do with it?” he asked. Frank Lamson looked bewildered.