“It can’t be,” he told himself. “And yet, if not, what can it be? I—”
His thoughts were broken in upon by a cheerful voice:
“Sleep well?” It was the short, broad man.
“Yes, I—”
“Come out with me into the light. Bit dismal in the cave.” The little man seized him by the arm to fairly shove him toward the door. As Johnny turned about for one more look at that fantastic thing clinging to the cave’s roof, the little man appeared to redouble his efforts. Yet in that last look Johnny obtained a further impression that was startling in the extreme.
“I wanted to have a talk with you before the natives were about,” said the little man, as they seated themselves on mossy rocks beneath a low, spreading tree. “They would not understand us for they speak only the lowest Creole. However, they would disturb us.”
“When I sent for you,” he began after a moment’s silence.
“Sent—”
“Did you not guess? Did they not tell you?”
“The natives speak only Creole,” said Johnny. “I do not understand that language.”