on sails and wind. I would imagine you would find such a boat better at your lighthouse."
"We love sailing," Elspeth replied. "I don't think that we could bear to give up the Ailouros. My husband doesn't quite approve of power-boats."
"So?" said Stysalski. "But they are so uniform, so dependable, so—" At that moment his engine gurgled, sputtered a few times, and gasped itself into silence and inactivity. The Count grew rather red, though he smiled very gaily.
"Nothing at all!" he assured his passengers. "We shall be off again in a moment!"
He spun the fly-wheel. The engine wheezed, turned over, and relapsed into immovability. He blew into the carburetor; he unscrewed the spark-plugs and examined them; he did everything he could think of, but the motor refused to start. The Count's neatly-brushed hair hung over his eyes; there was a large spot of machine-oil on his white trousers. He growled something at the engine, then bit his lip and was silent.
Jim glanced up quickly, and said:
"Any gasoline?"
Yes, the tank was almost full—the Count had
