By the time I had reached the boat’s side, Stevens had thrust aside the burly fellow, and was trying to start the balky machine himself, while the owner chafed in bitterest impatience. I caught his eye. “I think I can start her,” I said simply. He must have read something in my tone that conveyed more than the usual talk of the “butter-in.” “You understand engines?” he queried sharply. “Enough to know that they need gasoline to run with,” I replied; and, before even the engineer knew what I was up to, I entered the cockpit, and strode quickly over to the tank locker, where I found my guess correct. I was no longer taking any chances. A stopcock which I had counted upon finding there was there, and turned off. “I saw him turn it off a moment before you arrived,” said I. I know now I should have been a trifle more diplomatic, and I might well have regretted it; for the fellow had me nicely by the throat in the time you could count three. But aid came speedily. With a neatness and dispatch with which I would never have credited his build, the owner shot out a white-knuckled fist, and caught the engineer prettily beneath the cheek. There’s a spot that effects the result nicely. Grip relaxed, he toppled over the rail. The next second he bobbed to the surface, gurgling stertorously. I had regained my breath from the strangle by this time. “Here, quick!” said I, springing for the stopcock and turning it on full. “I’ll run her for you.” I had caught the glitter of a constable’s star in the small crowd that had collected on the dock from nowhere. I realized that explanation would delay. And little Skipper Stevens proved a man of quick action, too; for this time the bell jangled with a result. I threw her over, and she caught on the first spark. Two minutes after, we shaved the angle of the channel and headed straight for Plum Beach Point. That engine, given fuel, certainly was a sweet-running piece of metal. CHAPTER II. A BIT OF ACTING. For the next ten minutes I was too busy tuning the launch up to her best performance to pay much attention to the others, or even to realize the oddity of my position. I refilled the grease cups, which I found had run pretty low, screwed them down to a good tension, and gave a look at the sight tubes of the automatic oiler. Of course, the engine, new to me, was a bit of a problem. Twice she choked--not to a stop, but enough to make Stevens cast an apprehensive eye back at me. A quarter turn of the needle valve did the trick, though; and, as though she were chortling at a mischievous prank, she settled down to a steady, mile-eating gurgle. Finally--it was just about as we were quitting the harbor for the open Sound--I found time to flop myself down upon the engineer’s transom and size up the situation.