". . . Or glands!" I observed.
"You have a dry wit, George!"
"Twelve months in this tropical heat would make anyone dry. It's worse than being in America."
Sally looked perturbed.
"You don't think they're serious, Charles, do you?" she asked, timorously.
"They haven't the guts!" he commented, vulgarly. "If they had, they'd go gorilla-hunting themselves. I've offered to place the whole of our machinery at their disposal. But no—they want waiting on hand and foot, like babies. When I think of the money and time I've wasted—Pah! . . ."
There and then he called a meeting in the gymnasium, swore at the whole assembly, and ended by saying that they could either came back with us, or stay and moulder where they were.
Demoralized and shaken by the storm of Gran'pa's passion, they permitted themselves to be driven like sheep to the slaughter, and that afternoon we set out for England once again.
Gran'pa refused to allow any of us to return to "The Pilgrim Father" by 'plane. Full of feeble excuses about the lack of petrol, the disadvantages of carrying unnecessary cargo, and the waste of time, he told Oakley and Newland to fly their machines straight to Corisco, at which spot we were touching on the way home. As if deeply resentful of our presence, he went with them. So did Molly—to whom all things were still possible. The remainder of us proceeded to the coast by train.
It was a tedious and abominable journey, and when we at last boarded "The Pilgrim Father," I am certain that there was not a man who wasn't thankful to shake the dust of Africa off his feet for ever.