“Hang it all!” says Payne, shuttin’ off the engine.  “I guess we’re stuck.”

“Then why not have the picnic right here?” pipes up Mabel.

“Here!” snaps Payne.  “But I don’t know where we are.”

“Oh, what’s the difference?” says Mabel.  “Besides, I’m hungry.”

“I want to get out of this, though,” says Payne.  “I mean to keep going until I know where I am.”

“Oh, fudge!” says Mabel.  “This is good enough.  And if we stay here and have a nice luncheon perhaps the fog will go away.  What’s the sense in drifting around when you’re hungry?”

That didn’t seem such bad dope, either.  Vee sides with Mabel, and while Payne don’t like the idea he gives in.  We seem to have landed somewhere.  So we carts the baskets and things ashore, finds a flat place up on the rocks, and then the three of us tackles the job of hoistin’ Mabel onto dry land.  And it was some enterprise, believe me!

“Goodness!” pants Mabel, after we’d got her planted safe.  “I don’t know how I’m ever going to get back.”

We didn’t, either; but after we’d spread out five kinds of sandwiches within her reach, poured hot coffee out of the patent bottles, opened the sardines and pickles, set out the cake and doughnuts, Mabel ceases to worry.

Payne don’t, though.  He swallows one sandwich, and then goes back to inspect the boat.  He announces that the tide is comin’ in and she ought to float soon; also that when she does he wants to start back.

“Now, Payne!” protests Mabel.  “Just when I’m comfortable!”

“And there isn’t any hurry, is there?” asks Vee.

I wa’n’t so stuck on buttin’ around in the fog myself; so when he asks me to go down and see if the launch is afloat yet, and I finds that she can be pushed off easy, I don’t hurry about tellin’ him so.  Instead I climbs aboard and develops an idea.  You see, when I was out with Eb Westcott in his lobster boat the day before I’d noticed him stop the engine just by jerkin’ a little wire off the spark plug.  Here was a whole bunch of wires, though.  Wouldn’t do to unhitch ’em all.  But along the inside of the boat is a little box affair that they all lead into, with one big wire leadin’ out.  Looked kind of businesslike, that one did.  I unhitches it gentle and drapes it over a nearby screwhead.  Then I strolls back and reports that she’s afloat.

“Good!” says Payne.  “I’ll just start the engine and be tuning her up while the girls finish luncheon.”

Well, maybe you can guess.  I could hear him windin’ away at the crankin’ wheel, windin’ and windin’, and then stoppin’ to cuss a little under his breath.

“What’s the matter?” sings out Mabel.

She was one of the kind that’s strong on foolish questions.

“How the blazes should I know?” raps back young Hollister.  “I can’t start the blasted thing.”

“Never mind,” says Mabel cheerful.  “We haven’t finished the sandwiches yet.”