“Come on,” said Jack. “We have enough fish for this time. In this climate they won’t keep.”
“Just one more,” Stew begged as he cast in his line. He had the fish at once, so with a sigh he gathered up his catch, strung on a crotched stick. Then they were off.
“The thing that burns me up,” said Jack, as they made their way down the slope, “is that the old Black Bee may at this very moment be ganging up with a lot of other fighting ships for a whack at Mindanao.”
“And if she is,” Stew groaned, “we’ll miss the biggest show of the whole war.”
“That’s right,” Jack agreed. “Biggest and best.”
“‘Remember Pearl Harbor,’” Stew quoted. “How can we forget? We’ve just got to get off this island—even if we have to borrow that propellerless plane or walk right in on the natives and say, ‘Here! Give us a lift in your canoes.’”
“We’ll have to make haste slowly,” Jack replied thoughtfully. “We probably couldn’t fly that plane if those fellows gave it to us as a present. Imagine a plane that flies without a propeller!”
“I can’t,” said Stew.
“But you saw it, didn’t you?”
“I sure did, on the outside. Sometime I’ll see the inside of it, too. You watch my smoke!”