Thirty minutes later they were about twenty feet from where they had been when Pud made the above proposal. In other words, the _Kismet_――_Jolly Rodger_――_Vengance_ simply refused to budge. They did all the usual things and a great many novel ones; and they turned the wheel over and over until every one’s back ached. For once even Harmon’s magic failed. To add to the unpleasantness of their predicament, the rain began to drizzle down again and they went back to rubber coats; and every one knows what awkward affairs rubber coats can prove in such circumstances. Every time Tim leaned down to give the fly-wheel another hopeless revolution he stepped on a corner of his coat and so only succeeded in turning the wheel halfway. With the rain came another degree or two of dimness, a sort of gray twilight that added to the depression of their spirits. They sat themselves down on the wet seats and stared at the engine which, now once more yellow with rust, seemed to stare malignantly back. Finally Tim spoke, bitterly and accusingly. ‘Your father never ought to have let us start out in a boat like this,’ he said. Pud turned upon him angrily, started to make a retort, and closed his lips resolutely. Some things were too absurd to deserve an answer! Tim, still gloomily regarding the two rusty cylinders, went on. ‘If you’d only had sense enough to bring a pair of oars we could have rowed back,’ he announced. Pud laughed harshly. ‘Oh, sure,’ he agreed with deep sarcasm. ‘That would be easy, wouldn’t it? With no oar-locks! And against that current! And the stream so narrow in places――Oh, shut up! You make me tired!’ Tim turned a slightly startled gaze to his chum. He hadn’t suspected that Pud was getting angry. After all, it was a mean thing to crab. It wasn’t Pud’s fault. Tim arose apologetically and turned the wheel over four times. Then he seated himself again across from Pud and said: ‘I guess you’re right. Oars wouldn’t be any good.’ ‘Of course they wouldn’t,’ said Pud, slightly mollified. ‘I guess the only thing to do is take no notice of that blamed engine for a while and then try again. Motor-boat engines are queer things, and sometimes they come around all right if you pay no attention to ’em.’ ‘If we had us a good ol’ pole,’ said Harmon, ‘we could get us out o’ here, I reckon.’ ‘There’s the boat-hook,’ suggested Tim, ‘if we haven’t lost it.’ ‘It’s here,’ announced Harmon, ‘but it ain’ long enough. Reckon this here’s mighty deep water.’ ‘I’ve heard folks say there wasn’t any bottom at all some places,’ said Tim awedly. ‘Pshaw, that’s foolishness,’ replied Pud. ‘If there wasn’t any bottom how’d the water stay in here? But a pole wouldn’t get us very far. Even if we had three poles we wouldn’t reach the end of the pond before dark. No, sir, if we can’t get the engine going we’ll just have to spend the night right where we are.’