THE ENGINE
Next morning, bright and early, the boys again met at the house-boat.
The weather still continued hot, with scarcely a breeze to ripple the
surface of the river. The glassy expanse reflected the clear blue sky
above; occasionally tugs and other passing craft sent long swells
rolling shoreward, to break with a complaining gurgle against the sides
of the boat. Smoke and steam drifted lazily upward; and the glare of
sunlight made any bit of shade refreshing.
Jack Lyons and Dave Brandon had each brought with him a package, Dave’s
quite long and Jack’s square. These excited a great deal of comment.
But, with a stubbornness that aroused their companions’ curiosity to
the highest pitch, both refused to divulge the nature of their contents
until the house-boat was entered. Then, as they stood in the cabin,
Joe Preston spoke up:
“For goodness’ sake, fellows, let’s see what you have.”
Dave smiled in a superior sort of way.
“All right, Joe--here goes; we had this with us out west.” And, as the
others crowded around, he untied the long package.
“Gee whiz--a telescope!” cried Joe. “I was always going to get one.”
Joe was noted for his consistent intention to do something which
somebody else always did first.
“A beauty,” put in Aleck. “Let’s have a squint through it.”
“And won’t it be dandy to look at the stars!” chimed in Winter, the
studious one. “Bully for you, Dave. Now, Jack, what’s in the other?”
“Jiminy, doesn’t the bridge look near?” cried Aleck, leveling the
telescope through the open door. “Seems as if we were right on top
of it. And that little boat over there isn’t little--it’s big,
and--say--what’s this?”
Jack was holding up a small, framed picture.
“What do you think of that, fellows?” he asked, proudly. “I made it
myself. Didn’t know I could paint, eh?”
“Best picture of a hat I ever saw,” declared Joe. “Don’t know just what
style it is, but----”
“A hat?” A rather sad smile curled Jack’s lips. “A hat?” His voice
quite lost its accustomed cheeriness. “Why, that’s the house-boat--our
house-boat, you blundering pirate.”
“Why--er--honest--but now I can see it,” grinned Joe, with a wink
at nothing in particular. “Oh, yes, I was too far away. There’s the
roof----”
“And deck,” chimed in Fred, forgetting his usual solemnity, and vainly
trying to stifle a gurgle.
“And you can even read the name,” laughed Aleck. “All done by hand,
too. The water’s great.”
“It ought to be--it’s in water-color, isn’t it?” inquired Joe. “Hang it
up, Jack. Never thought you could do anything like that,” and, as Jack
looked at him suspiciously, he hastened to add, “Anything so good, I
mean.”
“And now let’s have the tube that makes little boats turn into big
boats,” said Fred, when the painting had been placed in a prominent
position.
For an hour the lads amused themselves with the telescope, and watching
the antics of “Confuse-us,” and then began to grow impatient, fearing
that some delay might prevent the engine from reaching them that day.
Then a voice outside caused Jack to spring up.
“It’s Jim Benton,” he said, as a hail reached their ears.
The machinist, with a bag of tools, clambered on board.
“Hello, Jack!” he said. “Hello, boys! Where’s your engine?”
“Over in Jersey, I’ll bet,” answered Jack, in a disgusted tone. “Sit
down, Jim. What do you think of this--great, eh?”
“It’s swell, that’s what it is,” said Jim, slowly, as he looked around.
“Fine as most any room in town. Bless me! Wish’t I was a youngster
ag’in. I’d go with you.”
“They said the engine would be here this morning,” grumbled Jack.
“Well, the morning ain’t half over yet,” said Jim, consolingly. “Ain’t
this here b’ilin’ weather, though?”
He settled himself comfortably on the bench, and prepared to take a
good, long rest.
The morning passed. Jim ate his lunch, while the boys wandered off in
search of the nearest store. When they returned, hot and tired, the
wharf wore a deserted look.
Jim and “Confusion,” as Fred Winter had taken the liberty of calling
the pup, were taking a nap, but both promptly awoke when Joe Preston
hit the door a resounding bang with his fist.
“Sorry,” mumbled Joe, apologetically. “Such things will happen on
house-boats.”
About three o’clock, when hope had been given up, a two-horse team
rumbled over the wharf, and Jack gave a loud cheer.
“Hooray, fellows, it’s here,” he announced.
Then a wild scramble to be the first off the boat followed, greatly to
the terror of young Confuse-us.
“I feel thirsty ’nuff to drink the hull river,” announced the driver,
as he stepped down. “That’s a purty heavy injine. Wish I had a piece
of gold as big. Where d’ye want it put?”
“On the boat,” said Winter, solemnly.
“All right! Git up there! Whoa, boy! Gee-eee. Give me lots of room, you
kids. Gee-ee--whoa! If it bumps like that again, I’ll look to see it go
right through the bottom.”
When the interesting moment arrived, and preparations to unload the
heavy boxes had been completed, six newcomers, apparently having sprung
from nowhere, stood around and watched the proceedings with all the
interest which spectators generally show.
The seven boys and two men, after a great deal of tugging and
perspiring and straining of muscles, succeeded in sliding several boxes
down a pair of heavy planks to the house-boat. Then a block and tackle
and a number of thick timbers were thrown on top, and the wagon rattled
off.
The way Jack and his friends ripped and tore apart the boxes would
have been an inspiring sight to some lazy boys. They forgot the heat,
labor--everything; and never paused until a pile suitable for kindling
wood lay on the wharf.
“That was done fast, all right,” observed Jim, mopping his brow. “Say,
if my boss was to see anything like that, he’d wonder what he was
payin’ me for. Well, now, that engine is a mighty fine one.”
“We’re ready to get busy in earnest,” said Jack, impatiently.
“You’ll have to. There’s a whole lot of measurements we’ll need; and
it’s got to be done just right, you know.”
“Fire away,” was Jack’s eager reply.
“Wal,” said Jim, reflectively, walking out on deck, “we can’t do the
work here. That tree over there is just about in the right place;
an’ here’s the block an’ tackle. We’ll pass a rope ’round the whole
shootin’ match. Ye’re a strong-lookin’ lot, an’ it won’t take long.”
“You bet it won’t,” said Bob Somers.
Ropes were quickly untied. Then the boys set vigorously to work with
long sweeps, and soon succeeded in propelling the unwieldy boat toward
a shelving beach.
With Jim’s aid, the heavy block and tackle was rigged to the tree, the
rope passed around the house-boat, and the five took hold.
“A long pull, a strong pull, an’ a pull all together,” commanded Jim.
“Let ’er go!”
They tugged and pulled, while the perspiration poured from them in
streams, and, after long and earnest efforts, the stern of the “Gray
Gull” was drawn up upon the beach.
“Now, what’s to be done?” cried Jack.
But it was several moments before Jim felt capable of replying.
He sighed, rubbed his aching muscles, and at length said, with
exasperating slowness, “You see that there stern-post in the middle?
Wal, a hole’s got to be bored in it for the shaft.”
“All right,” said Jack. “Where shall we place the engine?”
“We’ll make a bed frame on the cross-beams below the deck. Have to tear
up the plankin’ a bit.”
“What else?” asked Jack.
“That’s all for the present. Take it easy; a month from now you’ll
forgit how much time ye spent on puttin’ it in.” And with these words
of wisdom Jim clambered aboard, drew out his rule, and began to take
measurements.
“Right here,” he said, marking a square on the floor in the rear part
of the cabin, “ye kin take up them boards.”
The boys worked with a vim, using saw and hatchet, and soon a large
opening in the planking revealed the cross-beams beneath. Then they
stood aside, while Jim indicated where cuttings and borings had to be
made.
“Make the frame right in place?” asked Joe.
“Sure! I’m ready now to set in a couple of them there beams. It’s goin’
to be a good, solid foundation for the bed plate.”
Jack and Joe sawed two heavy pieces of timber to the required length,
and then bored holes for the bolts.
“Tote ’em in now,” commanded Jim.
Following the mechanic’s directions, the boys soon had the pieces
resting at the proper distance apart on the cross-beams; and Jim, after
considerable labor, succeeded in bolting them securely in place.
“Now for a couple o’ crosspieces,” he added, with a sigh of
satisfaction.
“Solid as a rock,” declared the mechanic at length, testing the timbers
with his foot. “Get the bed plate, an’ bolt it down.”
When this was done, the five took a well-earned rest; but it was for
only a few moments.
“Now we’ll lower the engine into place, fellows,” said Jack, jumping to
his feet.
By means of an inclined board and ropes, this was done; and Jim began
to verify his previous measurements.
“I got the angle o’ the propeller shaft just right, lads,” he
announced, holding a stick from the engine to a mark he had made on the
stern-post. “The propeller o’ course has to be a sufficient distance
below the water level.”
“Won’t be much pitch to that shaft, eh?” said Jack.
“No! I made it the least I could,” answered the mechanic, wiping his
face. “Too much makes the boat lose speed.”
“I’ll bore the hole in the stern-post,” volunteered Jack.
“Make it this size,” explained Jim, handing the boy an auger. “It’s
large enough to give a clearance around the shaft.”
Jim watched the boy carefully, as the hole had to be bored at exactly
the right angle. Several times he tested the slant with a long,
straight piece of wood, and by this means accuracy was assured.
No sooner had the task been accomplished than Jim straightened himself
up, and took out his watch.
“Not another stroke to-night, young uns,” he said. “It’s gittin’ on to
six o’clock, and----”
“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed Jack. “It seems as if we hadn’t worked
any time, doesn’t it? Slow job, eh?”
Jim looked pained.
“That’s a fine way to talk,” he grumbled; “an’ me with about twenty
different kind o’ aches and pains.”
Jack slapped him on the back, and laughed. “Cheer up, old man. Now mind
you get here early to-morrow morning; and we’ll finish the job in great
shape.”
“An’ me, too, I guess,” sighed Jim.
Time has a stubborn way of moving slowly when the reverse is desired;
and Joe insisted that on the following morning the sun rose fifty
minutes late and that the hours were at least twenty minutes too long;
and Jack said he was right.
But in spite of time’s apparent slowness, the seven boys at length
found themselves again on the house-boat.
After an hour of tedious waiting Jim Benton slowly approached.
“Here already?” he asked, with pretended surprise.
Some very scornful and indignant looks rewarded him; and Jim chuckled
as he stepped aboard the house-boat.
“Now,” he said, “we won’t fasten nothin’ down till it’s tested from A
to Z.”
“What comes first?” inquired Joe.
“Push the propeller shaft through the hole in the stern-post; then if
she fits, we’ll bolt the stuffing box in place.”
“What’s a stuffing box?” asked Joe.
“I know what a stuffing boy is,” laughed Aleck, as he pointed to a
sandwich from which the other was taking huge bites.
“A metal cylinder fittin’ over the shaft,” explained Jim. “It’s filled
with packin’ to keep out the water. Jack, you’re a hustler. Bet you’d
never work that hard for your livin’, though.”
When the shaft had been put in place, a coupling was attached to the
end, and this in turn bolted to a similar coupling on the engine.
“Pretty good work,” commented Jim. “Now we’ll screw on the propeller;
and then back to the water it goes.”
The gasoline tank was installed; then the batteries, spark coil, spark
plugs and carburetor; and their work now required only testing.
“Bully job,” declared Jack, enthusiastically.
“Know how the engine works?” asked Jim, stopping to wipe a very grimy
face.
“Sure thing, Jim,” laughed Jack. “This way: a mixture of gasoline vapor
and air is drawn into the cylinder from the carburetor; the spark plug
ignites it, and the piston is forced downward.”
“It’s a number of explosions, one after another,” put in Fred Winter,
solemnly.
“The only thing I know about it is this,” said Joe, with a grin;
“when the engine makes a noise, it’s going; and when it doesn’t, it’s
stopped.”
“Why doesn’t it explode straight ahead?” asked Aleck.
Jim Benton laughed heartily.
“’Cause the battery connection is broken, young un,” he said. “An
automatic arrangement lets a spark shoot across at just the right
instant.”
“Oh, I see,” said Aleck.
All but Jim Benton found it very hard to stop work.
“I’m awful glad none of you fellers ain’t my boss,” he said, dryly.
“I ain’t worked like this for many a day. Yes, I’ve ordered a tank o’
gasoline; an’ it ought to be here pretty soon.”
The fuel, however, was late in arriving; so, leaving Joe in charge,
the others set off to see about provisions for the trip. Jim Benton
accompanied them.
“Don’t see why they asked me to stay,” grumbled Joe, dangling his legs
over the wharf. “Gee whiz, here comes the stuff now.”
A wagon drew up.
“Hey!” said the driver.
“Hey yourself!” said Joe, pleasantly. “Trot off your old gasoline.”
“All right, bub!” And the man began unloading a number of cans.
Joe soon had these aboard the “Gray Gull,” and then began filling the
tank. But a little labor went a great way with Joe, and he quickly
tired. The attraction offered by his lunch box was not to be resisted.
“Must be enough in the old thing to take us to Albany,” he grumbled.
“I’ll put in some more to-night.”
When the boys appeared he greeted them by exclaiming:
“Everything’s all right, fellows.”
“Gasoline in the tank, too?” asked Jack, with satisfaction.
“You bet.”
“Shove off. We’ll soon find out how the engine works.”
A loud, long cheer went up as the fly-wheel began to revolve.
“Hooray!” yelled Jack. “Isn’t this great?”
“Going like a thing o’ life,” grinned Joe.
“Speed ’most makes a fellow dizzy,” smiled Bob.
“The only thing I’m surprised at is to find the boat going at all,”
remarked Dave Brandon, staring solemnly at the water.
After skirting the shore for a short distance Jim swung the boat
around, and she slowly chugged her way back to the starting-point.
“It’s all in good shape, young uns,” he remarked, with a smile of
satisfaction. “Wish’t I was going along.”
“Mighty glad it’s been decided that we house-boat it,” chirped Tom.
“Dandy fun. I’m glad your father didn’t object, Bob.”
“Bet you’ll scrap about the bunks,” said Jim.
“Not on your life.” Tom Clifton laughed. “Why, we’ll just roll
ourselves up in blankets and flop down in any old corner.”
“Don’t you Ramblers ever sleep in beds?” queried Jim, with a wink.
“Only sometimes,” answered Tom, loftily.
“Then we’ll start on our trip to-morrow,” declared Jack Lyons,
enthusiastically.
“To-morrow,” sighed Joe, “is an awful long way off.”