As Frank had anticipated, at flood-tide the yacht was backed off under her own power and then came the time for farewells—and warm ones they were. To Sikaso the boys presented a rifle and an automatic revolver as the noble old fellow would not hear of taking money. The last glimpse they had of their black friend, as the yacht headed due west for America, he was standing gloomily in the stern of the launch—one hand on his faithful axe and the other raised against the blue sky as if in benediction.
"Well," said Frank, as the distance shut out the picture, "we are bound for home at last."
"What ever will they say when they hear of our adventures?" cried Harry.
"And the recovery of the ivory?" chimed in Lathrop, "my father's business is saved. We must cable from the Canaries of our success."
"And the narrative of George Desmond and our own experiences with the Flying Men?" chimed in Billy.
"Oh, you'll have to can that rarebit dream!" cried Harry.
"I will not!" exclaimed Billy indignantly. "I'm going to print it."
"On the funny page maybe. I'd like to see the newspaper that would publish such a yarn."
Alas for poor Billy! Harry was right.
Nobody would believe his strange tale and last he grew tired of telling it, and even to hardly credit it himself.