“What’s the matter?” asked Dick. “Hasn’t she been behaving herself lately?” “Oh, yes, but you never can tell. One day she’ll run like a sewing machine, and the next I can’t seem to get her started. She’s like all the other motorboats, good at times, and off her feed occasionally. That’s why I called her the _Tag_. I never know whether I’m ‘it’ or whether she is. However, here’s for a try.” Tom revolved the fly wheel vigorously, but there was only a sort of sigh from the engine, as if it did not like to be disturbed from the rest it had been taking. “One strike,” murmured Tom whimsically as he looked at the engine to see if all attachments were in their proper place. “Here goes for another spasm.” Once more he whirled the heavy wheel around. But, save for a more pronounced sigh, and a sort of groan, there was no result. “Let me try,” suggested Dick. “I’m afraid to. This engine is like a balky horse at times, and if anyone but the regular trainer monkeys with her she just sulks all day. I’ll get her going yet.” Again came an attempt to make the motor do its work, and again there came a sigh, accompanied by a cough. “Three strikes, and I’m out!” exclaimed Tom, sinking back on the seat rather exhausted. “But she’s speaking better than at first. Didn’t you think you heard her sort of talking back at me, Dick?” “Yes,” laughed his chum. “But say, are you sure you’ve got any gasolene?” “I put in five gallons last night, and didn’t run two miles.” “Are you sure it’s turned on?” “Of course I am!” “Have you adjusted the carburetor?” “Foolish question number twenty-six!” exclaimed Tom. “Say, you’re as bad as a chap at Elmwood Hall--George Abbot. We call him ‘Why,’ because he’s always asking questions. Don’t you get in that habit, Dick.” “I won’t, but I wanted to be sure you’d done everything you ought to to make the boat go.” “Don’t worry. Nobody can do all he ought to do in running a motorboat. The best authority that ever was would get stuck once in a while, and then some greenhorn could come along, scatter a little talcum powder on the cylinder head, and off she’d go. And the funny part of it is that no one would know why.” For a moment Tom sat looking at the refractory engine, as though trying to read its mind, and then, with a sigh himself, he once more cranked up. This time there was hardly a murmur from the engine. “Hum! Gone to sleep again!” commented Tom. “I can’t understand this.” Taking off his coat he made up his mind that he would go systematically over every part of the engine, from the batteries and magneto to the gasolene tank and vibrator coil. He started up in the bow, and, no sooner had he looked at the switch which Dick had adjusted, than he uttered an exclamation. “There it is!” he cried. “What?” asked his chum. “The trouble. Look, that one wire is loose, and even though the switch was connected I didn’t get any spark. It’s a wonder you didn’t see it when you turned it on.”