“Keep still, Stew!” Jack warned in a whisper.
Without really knowing why, Jack had brought the monkey on his shoulder. Now the little fellow stirred uneasily.
The girl at last handed the slice of bronzed pork to an old man with a long, wrinkled face.
Carving off a small portion, he put it in his mouth. For a space of seconds his face was a study. Then it was lighted by a wide grin. He said a single word. At that the crowd exploded with joyous anticipation.
“It’s done. The porker is roasted. And we don’t get even a bite,” Stew groaned. “What a life!”
Then a strange thing happened. The crowd lapsed into silence. Only the snapping of bursting coals could be heard as the natives bowed their heads while the girl said a few words in a low tone.
“Grace before meat,” Stew whispered. “What more can you ask?”
“Plenty,” was Jack’s reply. “The Nazis and the Japs also pray. Then they go out to massacre women, children, and helpless prisoners of war. We’ll wait and see.”
As if this scene awakened memories in his small brain, the monkey on Jack’s shoulder stirred, danced for a second, then gave an immense leap that landed him almost in the center of the throng.
“Now we’ve got to beat it! They’ll be looking for us! Let’s scram!”