Imagine their surprise when, as they parted the branches of a low palm tree, they came upon an open, uncultivated field and saw in the midst of that field an airplane resting safely upon its landing wheels.
“Of all things!” said Dot.
“And there are girls,” said Curlie. “Two of them.”
“That,” said Dot, sitting down upon the ground with alarming suddenness, “is Doris and Nieta. Nice trick they played on us.”
“I’ve heard of them but never met them,” said Curlie, offering the girl his hand. “Suppose you take me over and give me an introduction.”
A half hour later, after many a laugh and much introducing and explaining, when the gallant young pilot had flown away the four young people, Doris, Dot, Johnny and Curlie, marched away toward the village of Terre Plaisance, which was now but a comfortable walking distance away.
* * * * * * * *
“Curlie,” said Johnny, late that night, as they sat with their feet on a broad window sill, looking through a great window to a scene of matchless beauty, tropical flowers, waving fronds and a sky sprinkled with stars, “Curlie, old boy, a fellow could almost settle down to something like this. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, have you?”
“No,” said Curlie, “I haven’t. I’ve been in the northern wilds. Too cold up there. I’ve seen the Amazon country. Too hot. Too humid. Too many bugs. But here—look out there. Sense it all, the night, the perfume of flowers, the stars.”
Perhaps they thought too of the girls who had left them but a short half hour before. Their dresses that night had formed a strange contrast to that worn in the bush. Khaki had been replaced by filmy things of brilliant color. Doris had been dressed in pink and old rose; Dot in dark blue and a glorious orange hue. Together they had played low, haunting native airs on banjo and ukulele, while the palms accompanied them with the ever restless rustle of the mysterious jungle.