Stew tossed his catch upon a rock. “How’d you like to wait until tomorrow for your fish?”
“Suits me,” said Jack.
The fish did wait, and the two boys sat down to enjoy a feast such as they had not eaten in months.
“Do you know, Stew,” Jack said as he reclined against a rock, with the blue-black sea before him, “I think we picked the wrong party to help us get off this island.”
“What do you mean?” Stew sat up.
“Those natives have some swell outrigger canoes that would take us to some other island in less than an hour,” Jack confided. “I saw them. They’re really fast.”
“And then we’d just be on another island,” Stew drawled. “What I want is to be sitting on the flight deck of our ship hearing the engines warming up. Or I’d like to be down below where jazz music and radios make night hilarious on the old Black Bee.”
“All the same, I’d feel better if I were sure I could leave this island in a hurry if I needed to,” Jack insisted.
“Tell you what!” He sprang to his feet. “This feast of ours came from the native village. It’s a peace offering. What do you say we go and smoke a pipe of peace with them?”
“Oh-o-o no! Not me!” Stew did not move. “They might not be as civilized as you think. Don’t forget that girl and the nurse’s costume. Besides, I’ve got something else I want to do.”