ons thoroughly agreed with me.

All that night in my restless sleep I drove speed boats at a terrific
pace through impossible channels and rock-toothed Scyllas; and the
little Cornishman fought angry seas and heard a dream-wind shrieking in
the cordage, and felt the salt spume on his face. "I wonder why I am
always dreaming that," he said. "Atavism," I ventured; and he regarded
me narrowly, as though I might be maligning his character in some way.

At dawn we had already eaten and were loading the _Atom_ for the voyage.
With her cargo she drew eighteen inches of water. At full speed, she
would squat four inches. It was the first of August and the water,
which had reached in the spring its highest point for twenty years, had
been falling rapidly, and now promised to go far below the average
low-water mark. We had ahead of us a long voyage, every mile of which
was strange water.

Once again I went over that feverish calculation. This time I was more
generous. I decided upon fifteen days. The cable ferry towed us out
beyond the gravel bars that, during the last week, had been slowly
lifting their bleached masses higher. In mid-stream we cut loose.

At the first turn the engine started. We were going at a good half-speed
clip, when suddenly the engine changed its mind. "Squash!" it said
wearily. Then it let off a gasoline sigh and went into a peaceful sleep.
We had reached the brick hotel. We pulled in with the paddles and tied
up. The information bureau was there, and at once went into
consultation.

"I'm looking for an engine doctor," I said. "How about Mr. Blank? They
tell me he knows the unknowable."

"Best man with an engine in town," sad one.

"For gracious' sake, keep that man away from your engine if you don't
want it ruined!" said others. A man who can arouse a diversity of
opinions is at least a man of originality. I went after that man.

He came--with an air of mystery and a monkey wrench. He sat down in
front of the patient (how that word _does_ fit!) and after some time he
said: "_Hm!_"

He unscrewed this--and whistled awhile; he unscrewed that--and whistled
some more. Then he screwed up both this and that and cranked her.

"Phew-oo-oo-oo!" said the engine. Whereat the doctor smiled knowingly.
It was plain that she was an open book to him.

"What is the trouble?" said I, with that tone of voice you use in a
sick-room.

It appeared to be appendicitis.

"Spark-plug," muttered the doctor.

"Shall