But it was of no avail, and the more Ned labored at turning over the flywheel, the more the motor seemed to balk.
“I give up!” exclaimed the merchant’s son. “It’s your turn, Bob.”
The stout lad gravely took out a bit of court plaster, and pasted it on the magnet of the dynamo.
“What’s that for?” asked Mr. Brill, quickly.
“That’s my way of breaking a hoodoo,” said Bob.
But that, likewise, was of no avail, and the engine remained “dead.”
Jerry tried again, with no success, and then they all sat down on the shore and looked gloomily at the boat. It was getting late, no other craft was in sight, and the river at that point was too wide to admit of signalling, or calling to shore.
“I guess it’s us for an all-night stay,” remarked Bob, gloomily. “And not a bit of grub!”
“There would have been some in the box in the shack if you hadn’t insisted on eating the last box of sardines,” declared Ned, for often the boys would spend a day or two camping out on the island, and they had a small supply of provisions there.
“Well, I was hungry,” said the fat youth. “I had to eat ’em.”
“If we’ve got to stay here let’s go up to the cabin, and see what we can do about sleeping,” proposed Ned. “It’s pretty evident that we can’t get the motor going now. There must be something wrong with the valves. It’ll have to be taken apart. Let’s go to the shack.”
They found the cabin in good shape, and all of them could sleep there, since it was not cold, and there were enough covers on the bunks. But there was no food.
“Well, we’ll have to make the best of it,” declared Jerry. “Let’s go back to the boat, and see that everything’s safe for the night, and then we’ll turn in.”
But they were spared the discomforts of a foodless night on the island. For, when they were making their craft snug at the improvised dock, Ned caught the sound of oars on the dark river.
“There’s a boat!” he exclaimed. “Let’s yell!”
“Good idea,” agreed Jerry, and they raised their voices.
“What you want?” came the answering hail, as the sound of rowing ceased.
“We’re stuck on the island,” answered Ned. “We want to be taken ashore. Who are you?”
“Sud Snuffles,” was the answer, and the boys at once recognized the voice of a queer character about town--a man whom they often hired to do odd tasks. Sud was a person very fond of going about, and he had the faculty of getting into trouble, and out again, with ease. Just now he was a welcome friend.