"You are sheer pluck," he said.
"I don't know.... I am very poor.... There seemed to be a chance.... I took it——" Tears sprang to her eyes again, and she brushed them away impatiently.[287]
"Yes," she said, "the only way is to go on, as you say, Mr. White. Everything in the world that I have is invested here."
"It is the same with me," he admitted dejectedly.
They looked at each other curiously for a moment.
"Isn't it strange?" she murmured.
"Strange as 'The Journal of Valdez.'... I have an idea. I wonder what you might think of it."
She waited; he reflected for another moment, then, smiling:
"This is a perfectly rotten place for you," he said. "You could not do manual labour here in this swamp under a nearly vertical sun and keep your health for twenty-four hours. I've been in Trinidad. I know a little about the tropics and semi-tropics. Suppose you and I form a company?"
"What?"