“He got the idea,” Ted agreed. “Let’s go.”
Lines were attached to the plane; then with a low chant the natives were paddling in perfect rhythm and drawing the plane silently toward the island.
CHAPTER XXIII
HOT CANNIBAL RIVETS
Ted’s plane was heavy, a dead weight in the water. Progress toward the island was slow, but the protecting screen of mist held on. Noon came, and Mary produced cold meat sandwiches and bananas for their lunch.
As Jack watched her give a banana to the monkey perched on her shoulder, he caught the gleam of the chain and the tag the monkey wore about his neck.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “That’s your dog tag the monk is wearing!”
“Sure,” she flashed him a smile. “What did you think?”
“Almost anything before I knew you were a white girl,” he admitted.
“I’ll bet you thought the natives had eaten me,” she laughed, “and that all that was left of me was the dog tag.”
“That, and your white uniform,” he supplemented.