At this point a very black, very round, very good-natured negro countenance appeared in the companion way above them.
“Ah’se done locked up, Marse Tom. Anyfing else yo’ all might be requirmentin’ ob?”
“No, Jupe. I guess we’re about ready for a start. Let’s see,” and Jack rapidly ran over a mental list of what they had on board.
“Yes, we’ve got everything. The water tanks are full, plenty of gasolene,—it’s a good thing we brought that extra stock from Galveston,—grub, O. K., and—better get forward and start the motor up, Tom.”
Tom needed no second bidding. He shot up the companion way three steps at a time, almost upsetting Jupe, who stood at the summit on deck. He scurried to a hatchway forward of amidships and dived below. A hasty glance over the forty horse-power, four-cylindered, four-cycle engine showed him that everything was in working order. An adjustment of the force-feed lubricator, a swift examination of the magneto, a few turns of the starting apparatus, and a rhythmic series of explosions as the crank shaft began to revolve, and the Vagrant was ready, so far as her machinery was concerned, to begin her dash across the Gulf.
In the meantime, Jupe had been hustled ashore by Jack, who had taken up his position at the wheel, and in a very few seconds the lines that held the motor cruiser to the wharf were cast off. Jupe made a flying leap aboard as the tide swung the Vagrant from her resting place.
At the same instant Jack jerked the bell pull, which signaled Tom in the engine-room below to throw in the clutch, and as the propeller began to revolve the Vagrant backed slowly out. In a few minutes Jack rang in the “Go-ahead” signal, and swinging the doughty little craft in a short semicircle, the young captain headed her almost due S. E.
Tom emerged on deck wiping his hands on a bit of waste.
“Everything all right below?” inquired Jack as his cousin took up a position beside him.
“Running like a dollar watch,” was the response.