“Well, let’s see,” said Billy Noon. “I guess there’s nothing very wrong.” He picked up the handle, fitted it to the fly-wheel and turned her over several times without results. Then he tested the battery, an operation which the boys watched with interest, and got a good spark. [Illustration: “‘What did he tell us he gave for that boat?’”] “Nothing wrong there,” he mused. “Have you ever run a launch?” asked Roy curiously. “No, but I operated a gas-engine once for about six months and got pretty well acquainted,” answered Billy. “That was in a pottery.” He looked over the engine for a moment in silence, his sharp eyes twinkling from one part to another. “Let’s see how the gasolene is coming. Maybe--hello!” “What?” asked Dick. “Why, your cock under the carbureter has worked open and all your gasolene is running into the well. No wonder! Got a monkey-wrench?” “No, we haven’t,” answered Dick. “Well, the handle will do. All it needs is just a tap to tighten it. There! Didn’t you try to flood your carbureter?” “No,” answered Dick a trifle sheepishly. “We forgot it the last time.” “If you had you’d have seen where the trouble was, because she wouldn’t have flooded. Now let’s see.” One turn and the engine started. Billy retarded the spark until he saw that the _Minerva_ was following all right, and then pushed the lever in. The launch gathered speed and in a moment was cutting through the water in a way that brought an admiring ejaculation from even Chub. But Billy wasn’t satisfied. “That carbureter isn’t regulated very well,” he said. So he went at that, Dick watching, and screwed and screwed until he had it to suit him. “That’s better,” he said. He wiped his hands on the piece of waste and looked over the boat. “A nice little launch,” he said. “And a good engine. You’re getting fully two and a half horse-power out of it, I guess.” “How fast do you think she is going?” asked Dick eagerly. Billy studied a moment. Then: “About seven miles,” he answered. “You ought to make nine with the current and no tow.” Dick looked triumphantly at Chub. For once Chub had nothing to say. Presently Dick observed: “What I don’t understand is why she wouldn’t start at the wharf. We flooded the carbureter dozens of times then.” “Maybe that was the trouble,” was the reply. “Your engine was stiff and cold and you got too much gasolene into it. That’s just as bad as getting none at all. You’ve got to have the proper mixture of air and gasolene, you know. After you’d turned her over awhile you worked the gasolene out and she started. It’s a good plan to have a small oil-can with some gasolene in it. Then if she doesn’t start with three or four turns you can open your relief-cock and squirt a few drops into the cylinder. That’ll start her all right.”