“If it’s Dan MacMillan,” said MacGregor, “there’s sure to be someone with him.”
“They’ll be looking for us,” said Rusty.
“Yes, and we’ll have to find a way to let them know we’re here,” Johnny added.
“That,” said MacGregor, “is going to be hard, with all these.” His glance swept the brown throng.
“Tell you what!” Johnny exclaimed. “Rusty and I might do a little boxing bout. There’s sure to be someone on the plane who knows us.”
“And they’ll recognize you by your actions,” MacGregor agreed. “It’s a capital idea. I’ll go for the gloves.”
And so it happened that, as the seaplane flew over the ship, circled, then dipping low, passed within a hundred feet, those in it witnessed a strange sight—two white youngsters staging a boxing match for the benefit of a host of little brown men, who, truth to tell, gave them scant attention.
“I only hope they recognized us,” said Johnny, throwing his gloves on the deck.
“You and me too,” said Rusty. “Anyway,” she laughed, “that’s one time I didn’t knock you out.”
Whatever impression this little drama may have made upon the occupants of the seaplane, the effect of the appearance of the seaplane on the little brown men was apparent at once. On every face as the seaplane went winging away MacGregor read consternation.