"To jack up the boats with?" asked Harold, sardonically.

"It won't hurt to try, anyway," retorted the other boy. "Come on, Ruth!

We'll go ask."

To see Ruth walk away with Jack and leave him sitting there alone, was too much for Harold.

"Jack! I say, Jack!" he called. "Come back a minute!"

The boy and girl retraced their steps.

"What do you want?"

"I was just thinking--you might crawl under the car----"

"Eh?"

"I say, _you_ might crawl under the car," repeated Harold.

"What for?"

"Jack 'er up!"

He jumped up from the running-board just in time to avoid the other's clutches.

"Now, Harold!" protested Ruth. "As if this were not enough, you must make it worse with bad puns."

"I won't do it again," promised Harold, with mock penitency. "But wait a minute--I'm going with you."

He tossed the tools on the floor of the car and slammed the door.

"Jack, my boy," he resumed, "I really believe your idea is a good one, an inspiration, a mark of genius; I verily believe we are on the eve of a great discovery----"

"Oh, you dry up!" snorted Jack. "I don't really think we'll find one.

But it won't hurt to ask."

Upon closer inspection all of the boat-houses appeared to be deserted, except the one farthest away. This was slightly removed from the others, and more ramshackle looking; but someone was evidently there, for they could hear the sound of hammering, which seemed to come from within.

Over the door hung a home-made sign, with the inscription:

JOHN SLACK, BOATS FOR HIRE.

"See anything funny about that name?" asked Harold.

The others examined it more closely.

"He's got the "N" printed upside-down."

"Sure enough!" laughed Ruth. "Well, of all things!"

"Judging from the noise he's making," continued Harold, "John's business isn't very slack!"

"Are you commencing again?" groaned Jack.

"That will do, Harold! You've said quite enough!" warned Ruth.

They halted before the open doorway, through which they could see an old man bending over an upturned boat which he was repairing.

"Good day, Mr. Slack!" called Harold.

The man paused with his hammer in mid-air, and raised his head; a dirty white beard which seemed to start at his eyes, grew down over his chest.

"Howdy! What can I do for you?"

"We've had a puncture," explained Harold, "and we want to know whether you have a jack that we could borrow?"

The man shook his head.

"Never had no use for one," he replied.

Their faces fell; but as they turned to leave, the old man straightened up, and called out,

"Hold on a minute! What kind of car you got?"

"A Ford," Harold told him.

"There's your jack, then," he said, pointing to a pile of lumber in one corner of the room; "that there twelve-foot beam!"

"How?" queried the boy.

In reply, the man worked his arms up and down, as if he were operating a lever.

"Just stick it underneath and hist on one end," he explained.

"Can it be done?" asked Harold, doubtfully.

"I seen it done onc't--I guess you fellers kin do it. Maybe not if you had a bigger car--I dunno. Yer welcome to try. But you want to take a block to stick underneath the axle when you get 'er raised."

Following his suggestion, the boys raised the beam to their shoulders, and carried it back to the car, Ruth following with the smaller piece.

Placing one end of the timber beneath the axle and raising the other end, they found that without effort they could lift the rear of the machine sufficiently for Ruth to insert the block.

"Golly!" exclaimed Harold; "I believe we could lift a truck this way.

Pretty smart of old Santa Claus to think of it."

In a short time the change was made, the tools put away; and resting the improvised jack along one side of the car, across the mudguards, they returned with it to its owner.

"The job's done, Mr. Slack!" announced Harold, as they flung the beam to the ground. "I'm very much obliged to you for your help."

He slipped a coin into the old man's hand.