“Well,” she whispered to Johnny a short time later. “He’s going to take me down! Tomorrow! And I’m scared pink!”
“You needn’t be,” Johnny laughed. “It’s safer than an auto on Michigan Avenue in Chicago! And just think—you’ll be the first young lady ever to go down five hundred feet beneath the surface of the sea! At least, I imagine you will!”
“That,” she replied with a slightly unsteady chuckle, “will be a very great honor!”
* * * * * * * *
As Johnny changed to heavier clothes for his watch, later that night, the disc he had found on the beach, fell from his pocket.
He picked it up and realized instantly that it was a button from a uniform jacket.
“So that’s it!” he murmured, as he buried it deep in his pocket.
A night on this tropical river, into which they had come for easier access to the Kennedy cottage, was a new and interesting experience for Johnny. Mangrove trees, growing far out over the river, all but touched the deck. A troop of monkeys, apparently planning to cross the river on swinging branches, came chattering along to burst into a sudden frenzy of fear and anger at sight of this intruder. Crocodiles floated lazily on the dark surface of the water. Their eyes shone like balls of fire when Johnny’s flashlight was directed at them.
From the far distance came the singing of men and women, a native chant. A little later, paddles gleaming in the light, some of the singers floated past. Their large dugout was loaded with all manner of tropical fruits—bananas, pineapples, wild oranges and mangoes.
“What a life,” Johnny murmured, as the natives drifted past. He thought of the conditions of thousands of persons in the great cities of America—then looked out again at that boatload of people. It would be grand, he thought, to live here forever. And yet, there were the spies, and debts to those Europeans.