“Fine.”
“We’ll land down here.”
“All right. I shall certainly be glad to stretch my legs.”
“I say, are we in Peru?” Bob poked up his head.
“We passed that hours ago,” Jim laughed.
“Gee, I had a heck of a dream.”
“Don’t tell it before breakfast, it’s bad luck.”
Jim circled the “Lark” above the island and selected an open space back of the town which he was sure was Montego. The Jamaica Island lay half hidden in the midst, and the three air travelers sat tensely wondering what the next few minutes would have in store for them. Swiftly the plane glided down and at last lighted near a group of low buildings that might belong to a small piece of farm land. None of them thought it strange that it should be a boy who would come racing inquisitively, for there isn’t a youngster on the face of the earth who could resist the force which compels him to run to a descending machine.
“Hello, Bud,” Jim called experimentally.
“Hello,” the little fellow drawled, and the three were delighted that the salutation was understood.