Dick’s eyes swam in a happy, wondering mist. At that moment he feared it was all a dream from which he would quickly awaken. This vision of June—June, radiant and flushed, and more beautiful than ever—could not be other than a dream.
“Dick—Dick, don’t you know me? Dick, aren’t you glad to see me?”
It was her voice. He would have known it had it reached his ears in the heart of darkest Africa. This was no dream; it was a grand, joyous reality. The next instant he was on the steps, both her warm hands clasped in his.
“June, June!” he murmured ecstatically. “June, is it possible? Can it be I’m really awake and this is you?”
“Kiss her! kiss her! kiss her!” shouted a chorus of voices.
June, red as a fresh-blown peony, her voice trembling with excitement, her eyes gleaming like twin stars, answered his questions.
“Of course it is I, and, of course, you’re wide awake.”
“No, he isn’t,” piped another voice, that sounded strangely familiar. “If he was wide awake, he would never pass up an opportunity like that.”
“How is it possible that I find you here?” asked Dick.
“Chester will explain.”