The return to the launch was uneventful. They had the car to themselves most of the way, and Tim dozed off in a corner. Pud lost his bearings after they had reached the center of town and so they were carried four blocks farther than they should have gone and had a long, wet and dismal trudge to the river and made two failures before they found the right alley. The _Vengance_ was extremely wet and soggy when they reached her. The potatoes had wandered all around, the rain had leaked into several of the lockers, and a _swish-swashing_ sound under the floor informed them that there was much bailing to be done. With the passing of the early morning excitement, reaction had set in and every one’s spirits were low. Tim complained that he had not had sufficient sleep and even Harmon seemed more solemn than usual. One thing, though, they were agreed on, which was that they had had quite enough of Livermore! But there the engine failed to agree with them. Pud turned the fly-wheel until he was red-faced and breathless, and then Tim tried it. Then Pud peered into the gasoline tank and fiddled with every movable part of the engine. After that he thought of priming the cylinders, but that didn’t produce the desired result. Half an hour passed and the sun came up over the roofs of the town and deepened the flush on Pud’s countenance. At intervals Pud arose and turned the wheel over. At intervals he sank back on the seat in exhaustion. At intervals Tim performed a similar routine. Once, very early in the proceedings, the engine had emitted a faint but heartening cough. Since then it had not even sneezed. Tim offered many well-meant suggestions and theories, but Pud received them all coldly. Between spells at the fly-wheel he viewed the engine in deep disgust, a disgust that was just short of loathing, and said a great many unkind things about it. Toward the last he included Andy Tremble in his remarks. Of the three aboard, Harmon alone retained his equanimity. As his companions became more and more depressed, Harmon’s spirits visibly lightened. When, though, he sought to give expression to his cheerfulness by playing soft melodies on his mouth-organ, Pud turned on him wrathfully and threatened to ‘pitch that thing in the river’ if he didn’t quit! ‘All you do is sit there and chuckle,’ accused Pud. ‘_You_ don’t break your back on this old wheel! _You_ don’t blister your hands! You just――just sit there and think it’s funny! My goodness, I should think you’d be ashamed!’ ‘Jus’ you-all let me turn it,’ said Harmon eagerly. ‘Yes,’ said Tim, ‘let him try it, Pud.’ ‘No, sir! He don’t know how. He’d probably break his wrist or something.’ ‘No, sir, Mister Pud, I won’t. I done seen how you-all does it. Jus’ you let me――’