“Gee, this is swell, ain’t it, Elinor?”
“What is?”
His face flushed a vivid crimson and he was thankful to a dark night for hiding his excited emotions. “Why—er—everything,” he stammered, “the moon and—er—well, everything!”
Just over beyond the Mission, some natives were chanting dreamy Spanish songs of love to the accompaniment of strumming guitars.
“Listen to that lovely music!” Elinor exclaimed, completely enthralled. “It’s all so—so perfectly beautiful!”
“Just like a storybook, ain’t it?” was Panama’s description.
“You’ve spent a lot of time in the tropics, haven’t you, Panama?”
“Three years at the Canal, a year and a half in Haiti and now back here for the second time,” he replied in a dreamy manner. “I think it’s great! This part of the world is just like apple pie to me!”
“Do you like apple pie?” Elinor asked for want of something better to say.
“Sure, when it’s homemade! Don’t you?”