“If it’s a fight they want,” he said, clenching his fists tight, “they’re quite welcome to it, though I’d be the last to start it.”
Having caught no further sound, he settled back to his task of watching the ants stowing away bits of leaves, and of thinking over his own problems.
“It’s as if they were hurrying through with an important task,” he told himself, watching the tiny workers with renewed interest, “as if they were preparing for some great change, perhaps some gigantic natural catastrophe, an earthquake, a storm, a—
“I wonder—” his brow wrinkled as he gazed away toward the western sky. But no, there were no clouds, only a faint haze that spread over all the sky, faintly obscuring the sun.
“Nothing much I guess. Getting superstitious,” he told himself. “Must be going back. But not just yet.”
He had come to the heart of this banana plantation for two reasons. He had wanted to carry on a little investigation of his own, and to think his problems through.
The investigation had confirmed his suspicions. There were no workmen in this field. Diaz had said there were fifty men here gathering bananas. He had promised that the fruit would be at the dock, a train load of it next morning.
“A plain out-and-out lie!” Johnny told himself bitterly. “He knows he has me defeated. Any untruth will do. To-morrow my option on the North Star expires. Then she will steam away. After that Kennedy’s grapefruit may rot on the dock. He will be worse off than before. His Caribs have gathered and packed the fruit and there will be no money to pay them. What a blunderer I am!”
It was all quite true. The sleek, soft spoken Spanish manager of the plantation had, after that first stormy meeting, seemed to suddenly become quite friendly. He had invited Johnny to lunch and had feasted him quite royally. He had promised that his men who were out setting nets for turtles would be called in. Johnny should dock his ship. The bananas would be ready next evening.
That had been the first day. At the end of the second day no bananas had appeared. Johnny had sought out the Spaniard. He had treated the boy to a sumptuous dinner and had assured him that to-morrow the men would go for bananas. “Manana, manana,” he had repeated, wringing the boy’s hand.