I desire to say right now that some one ought to apologize for the behavior of Thomas H. Eaton during that trying period, and as Thomas H. Eaton has failed to apologize himself I’ll do it for him. Chub sat well out of the way on the “near-leather” cushion in the bow and just simply bubbled over with advice and observations. The engine consisted of a mysterious vermilion-enameled cylinder about fourteen inches high flanked on one side by a strange contrivance of brass called, according to the card of directions which hung from it, a carbureter and which looked like a small soup-bowl adorned with valves and springs. In front of the cylinder was a heavy iron wheel which appeared to operate a piston and a shaft. From the back of the engine a brass rod slanted away until it disappeared under the flooring. On top of the cylinder there was a contrivance of steel and porcelain which screwed into a hole, and from this an insulated wire ran to a set of dry-cells tucked under one of the seats. Well, it was all very confusing and mystifying, and unfortunately their friend the freight-handler knew nothing about gas-engines. The card of instructions contained a great deal of printed matter and several diagrams, but after Dick and Roy had read it carefully over the only things they were certain about were that it was necessary to fill the tank with gasolene, lubricate all bearings with cylinder-oil or grease and turn the fly-wheel to the right. So Dick went off in search of gasolene and presently returned struggling with a five-gallon can of it. This they poured into the tank. There was a small can of cylinder-oil and one of graphite in the tool drawer, and, while Roy read the directions, Dick poured oil or smeared grease. When that operation was completed Dick looked as though he had been an engineer all his life. Roy said he ought to have some cotton waste to wipe his hands on and the freight-handler again proved a friend in need, producing a bunch of the desired article as if by magic. Then Roy read the directions for starting the engine again, while Dick turned valves and fussed with things generally and Chub approved or disapproved as he thought proper. “‘Close switch,’” read Roy. “Have you done that?” “Yes, long ago. What next?” “‘Open relief cock, j.’” “Yes, open the relief cock, jay,” echoed Chub. “All right. Now what?” “‘Flood carbureter by depressing m.’” “What’s ‘m’?” growled Dick. Roy consulted the diagram. “Hanged if I know,” he muttered finally. “There doesn’t seem to be any ‘m’ here.” “Go on to the next letter,” suggested Chub. “Oh, here it is. It’s that little thing on top of it there. No, the little jigger; that’s it.” “The stuff’s coming out on top,” said Dick doubtfully. “Better stop then; I suppose it’s flooded. Now let’s see. ‘Flood’--you’ve done that. ‘Turn wheel over to right until engine starts. Then close relief cock, open oil-cup and regulate carbureter as directed.’”