“Of course,” his brow darkened, “some of them can’t be trusted. Those men, those Europeans—” his tone was bitter, “have corrupted them. Yes, and robbed them, too! They pay little for their produce, wild rubber, chicle, wild coffee. And they charge the natives high prices for cheap goods. They get the people deeply in debt to them, and then make slaves of them.
“That,” he sighed, “was why we bought a trading schooner, Mildred and I. We wanted to give the people of our small island a chance. We were doing it, too!” He struck the table a blow with his massive fist. “By George! We were doing it!
“But our boat’s on the bottom now!” His voice fell. “Our natives took her out in a storm, and she sprang a leak.”
“Yes, I know. Mildred told me.” Johnny was wondering whether some treacherous native, inspired by the Europeans, had let the water into the Kennedy boat. At the same time he was making a resolve to do all he could to find the boat and help bring it to the surface.
Mildred entered with a great plate of cookies and a pitcher of ice-cold, fruit juice.
“I hope you like them,” she smiled.
Johnny did like them. What was more, as the moments passed he became more and more interested in his new-found friends. They were, he told himself, good, kind, intelligent people—his kind. They would do things, together. He saw himself with the girl, following obscure trails in search of that spy castle whence, perhaps, the green arrow messages came.
“Well,” he sighed at last, “I’ll have to be getting back. It’s been grand, this visit. I hope you’ll let me come back, and that—that we can do things together.” He was looking at the girl.
“Do things? What, for instance?” Her face was serious.
“Lots of things. Things that may help.” He gave her a broad smile. Then—“just a big batch of day-dreams, I guess.”