For some time, as twilight turned to darkness, nothing further happened. Keeping his eye on the dangling ladder, Johnny allowed his mind to wander over the events that had led up to the present dramatic moment.
The whole affair had begun way back in freshman high school days. Johnny’s science professor had become, in a way, his pal. His natural interest in all matters pertaining to science had made him a leader in that field.
Then too, like Johnny, the Professor was fond of travel. Together, at odd moments, they had traversed all of the New World and much of the Old. All of this, of course, on maps and charts. But always, in the end, they came back to one spot, the Island of Haiti.
“Johnny,” the Professor had said over and over, “that is the most interesting island in the world, has the most absorbing history, and most tempting mountain jungles. Johnny,” he had always pounded the table at this juncture, “I’ll soon be sixty. Thirty-five years of teaching! That’s enough for any man. When I am sixty we’ll really go to Haiti!”
So here they were. In the meantime Johnny had done a little wandering on his own account, but as soon as he heard that his beloved Professor had gone to Haiti, he had followed.
He had found the Professor head over heels in work. For more than a hundred years this strange republic, not Spanish, not French, nor English, but pure native, red, black and brown, had struggled along without aid from her sister republic, Johnny’s own beloved land. But now the United States had taken a hand and Professor Star had been given a share in the work. A splendid, kind-hearted humanitarian, he had accepted the challenge and, with no pay save his living expenses, had assumed responsibility for the comfort, happiness and well-being of more than ten thousand natives.
“It’s a big task,” he told Johnny. “An almost impossible task without money. See that mason-work?” he had said one day as they walked through a tangled mass of vines and bushes.
“What is it?” Johnny had asked.
“The old French aqueduct, Johnny!” He had gripped the boy’s arm hard. “This narrow valley was once one of the richest in the world. Irrigated it was, by water from the mountain streams. And, Johnny, if we had money for cement, we’d rebuild that aqueduct and these half-starved and half-naked people would be happy and prosperous.
“And we, Johnny, you and I,” his eyes had shone with high hope. “We would become rich, for more than half of the land is uninhabited waste that can be bought for an incredibly small sum. And with water for irrigation it can be reclaimed and sold—for who knows how much? Get an American planter interested in it. Then see! We’d be rich, my boy! Think of an old professor and a boy getting rich!” He had laughed a cackling sort of laugh.