Linda laid her palm on the top of the sand heap and pressed it flat. She looked at Donald with laughing eyes.
“Symbolical,” she announced. “That sand was the Jap.” She stretched her hand toward him. “That was you. Did you see yourself squash him?”
Donald’s laugh was grim.
“Yes, I saw,” he said. “I wish it were as easy as that.”
“That was not easy,” said Linda; “make a mental computation of all the seconds that it took me to erect that pyramid and all the millions of grains of sand I had to gather.”
Donald was deeply thoughtful, yet a half smile was playing round his lips.
“Of all the queer girls I ever knew, you’re the cap sheaf, Linda,” he said.
Linda rose slowly, shook the sand from her breeches and stretched out her hand.
“Let’s hotfoot it down to the African village and see what the movies are doing that is interesting to-day,” she proposed.