For fifteen minutes Biff spoke to Chuba. At first, the native boy kept shaking his head. Then, as Biff’s enthusiasm mounted, Chuba was swept up by the idea. Negative shakes of his head became excited head shakes of agreement. Chuba’s eyes lighted up. Now he cut in on Biff’s enthusiasm with bursts of his own. He took over Biff’s plan, and added to it. Biff was a hard one to resist when he became enthusiastic about anything he wanted to do. And this he meant to do.
“We can do it, Biff,” Chuba said. There was no holding the boy now. “I get things ready on double quick. Have much ideas. But will take time.”
“How much time?” Biff demanded.
“Two hours—maybe three. Then you come to the house of my father. You know, where you saw Evil Spirit Box. Chuba be all ready.”
“Chuba, you’re a really smooth operator.”
“Like real American boy?”
“You said it.”
Chuba’s mouth was split into a wide grin of pride. No praise could have pleased him more.
Toward late afternoon, Jack Hudson ran his hand over his forehead. He was tired. He hated paper work. All afternoon, he had been poring over files, checking bills, answering letters. The work had to be done, but he wished there was someone else to do it. Action, that’s what he liked. Not sitting at a desk in a hot room.
As cluttered as his mind was with facts and figures, the thought of his missing friend, Charles Keene, kept coming back again and again. Jack thought of Biff, too. He didn’t like the idea he felt sure was building in Biff’s mind. Too risky, of course. But, he told himself, this sitting around, just waiting, was getting him down too.