“A fat chance they would give you to say good-bye!” snorted Polynesia growing impatient at last. “I tell you, Doctor, if you go back to that palace tonight, for goodbys or anything else, you will stay there. Now—this moment—is the time for you to go.”
The truth of the old parrot’s words seemed to be striking home; for the Doctor stood silent a minute, thinking.
“But there are the note-books,” he said presently: “I would have to go back to fetch them.”
“I have them here, Doctor,” said I, speaking up—“all of them.”
Again he pondered.
“And Long Arrow’s collection,” he said. “I would have to take that also with me.”
“It is here, Oh Kindly One,” came the Indian’s deep voice from the shadow beneath the palm.
“But what about provisions,” asked the Doctor—“food for the journey?”
“We have a week’s supply with us, for our holiday,” said Polynesia—“that’s more than we will need.”
For a third time the Doctor was silent and thoughtful.