"A top-hole idea," Freddy Farmer said gravely, and brushed a couple of crumbs off the skirt of his tunic. "I know just what you mean, old thing. I've been thinking about it myself. Yes, definitely a top-hole idea. Let's get along, shall we?"
"Yeah, let's," Dawson murmured, and led the way toward the mess door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Blackout
The setting sun was turning the waters of Paria Gulf between Trinidad and Venezuela to blood red as Dawson and Farmer strolled along a footpath that skirted a huge sugar plantation close to the San Fernando field. As neither had ever set foot on Trinidad before, the many and strange sights that met their wandering gaze took up all of their attention, and the thought that was in the back of each youth's mind was not given utterance for quite some time.
Presently, though, Dawson came to a full stop, took a deep breath, and squatted down on the ground.
"Let's rest and watch the sunset," he said. "It looks like it's going to be something. Besides, that's plenty enough walking for these aged bones."
"I was wondering if you were going to keep it up forever," Freddy Farmer grunted, and sank down beside him. "Good grief! It does get your legs when you're not used to it."