W-w-w-w-w-w-w-w-w
Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y
As we lay there like men in a trance I saw a dull red glow on the horizon and then, far off a rocket split the velvet night, burst into stars and disappeared.
It was William Henry Thomas, aboard the Kawa—a signal of distress! Poor goof! We had completely forgotten him.
I had a vague sense, shared, I think, by the others, that I ought to worry a bit about him. But it was no use. One by one we lowered ourselves into the pit of our arboreal home and drifted into delicious languorous reveries, not of William Henry Thomas. We had other things to think about.
CHAPTER IV
A few of our native companions. Filbertine diet. Physiological observations. We make a tour of the island. A call on the ladies. Baahaabaa gives a feast. The embarrassments of hospitality. An alcoholic escape.
"We really must do something about William Henry Thomas," I said on the day following our serenade.
My companions agreed, and we really meant it. But alas, how easy it is to put things off. Day after day slipped by and we thought less and less of our boat-tending sailorman and more and more of what a magnificent time we were having.