OH, SHOOT! 



five miles although it seemed much farther 

 before we found the launch and collapsed 

 over her gunwale like three wet shirts. Then, 

 just to show that things are never as bad as 

 possible, the engine balked. 



I asked if there was plenty of gas and if the 

 spark was working, and, receiving the usual 

 affirmative answer, I dissolved completely 

 into my rubber boots. Ri was probably quite 

 as miserable as I, but he began to scrub up for 

 the customary operation. He removed the 

 motor's appendix, or its Fay and Bowen, 

 and ran a straw through it, the while we 

 could see frantic flashes of the houseboat's 

 headlight. 



I felt an aching pity for Max and Grant. 

 What a shock to them it would be to find us 

 in the morning, frozen over the disemboweled 

 remains of our engine, like merrymakers 

 stricken at a feast of toadstools. They were 

 men of fine feelings; it would nearly, if not 

 quite, spoil their whole trip, even though they 

 divided my dead birds between them. 



But the machine made a miraculous re- 

 covery, and at its first encouraging "put" a 

 great warmth of satisfaction stole through me. 

 After all, it had been a wonderful day. 



30 



