“Come here, Mrs. Krause, and look.”
She came over to me, and then her thin little hand followed my forefinger as I made a pencilled mark on the chart to the south-east.
“Here is Tarawa; here is Apia in Samoa, nearly fifteen hundred miles distant. Here is the island of Ovalau in Fiji, about the same distance. Do you see?”
“Yes, I see.”
“And here, north-west from Tarawa, is your home on Guam—more than two thousand miles away. 'Tis a long, long way—but it could be done.”
“A long, long way indeed.” She lifted her eyes to me—and then she placed her hand on mine. “Why do you smile, Mr. Sherry; and yet why say 'it could be done'?”
“Let us sit down and talk the matter over quietly;” and I led her to a seat.
“Why should we go to Fiji or Samoa?” I said quickly, my blood afire with my new project. “There is nothing to draw you thither, is there?”
“Nothing. I know no one at either place. But you——”