Bill Bolton Flying Midshipman Part 12

"I asked, because we've got to stow those aviators somewhere. Perhaps the joint runs to an attic. That will do just as well."

"Well, we'll find a good place for them," replied the Seminole, intent on his cooking. "Confound them! These aviators of Martinengo's live like kings. A house to themselves, all kinds of good things to eat, and we poor devils pigging it a stone's throw away!-Better break open some more of those cans. I see tomatoes, corn, asparagus and cherries on that shelf. Let's sample them all. I haven't had a decent meal, let alone half enough to eat for weeks. How about it? Have you got an appet.i.te?"

"_Have_ I!" Bill began opening the other cans and dumping their contents on plates which he placed on the kitchen table. "I'll tell you one thing and that is, we eat the rest of this as is. I can't wait for cooking.

Bring over that skillet of eggs and corned beef. I'll get the coffee.

The smell of this stuff has turned me ravenous!"

Half an hour later, the two lads drained the last dregs of their coffee and grinned sleepily at each other across the table.

"Some feed!" Bill yawned and raised his arms above his head. "I bet we've got away with three days' rations. Gosh! One more crumb and I'll bust! Do you think it's safe, now, to turn in? I could go to sleep standing up."

Osceola rose slowly to his feet. "Of course it's safe, Bill. I wouldn't take a chance-not at this stage of the game, you know."

"But how about the lad who cooks for our aviator-friends? He'll mosey along here in the morning, and when he finds _us_ sleeping here, there'll be the devil to pay!"

"Oh, no, there won't! I know the man who acts as their servant, luckily enough. He's a sort of trusty-been here a long time-but he is locked up in our prison house every night. That chap is just as keen to get back to his home and his people as we are. There won't be a peep out of Sam.

Our worries will begin again when we leave this place in the morning--But sufficient unto the day--"

"Good enough!" enthused Bill, also leaving the table. "That being the case, I vote we put the careless aviators in a good safe place. Then me for bye-bye P.D.Q.!"

"If you think," grinned Osceola, "that _I'm_ going to stay up and wash dishes ..." he yawned, "you've got see-vee-rial thinks coming!"

CHAPTER X-WHAT HAPPENED IN THE MORNING

"Eight o'clock, suh! A fine hot day-an' yo' baf is runnin'."

Bill opened his eyes and stared upward from a soft pillow into the grinning face of an ancient negro.

"Ise Sam. Reckon Ma.r.s.e Osceola done tell yo'all 'bout me. Yessuh-yo' baf is runnin'."

Bill stretched and sat up in bed. "Pinch me, Sam," he yawned. "Did you really say 'bath'-or am I still sound asleep?"

"No, suh, yo' sure is awake, Ma.r.s.e Osceola has just got out o' the tub.

He done tol' me to wake yo'all." The old darkey seemed a bit fl.u.s.tered.

"Ef yo'll kindly tell me how yo' likes yo' eggs, Ma.r.s.e Bolton, I'll go on in de kitchen and dish up breakfast."

"Sam," said Bill, springing out of bed. "You're a sight for sore eyes, and your voice is music. Lead me to that bath you mentioned, and lead me quick. Real soap and clean water! Gee-it's wonderful!"

"An' de eggs, suh?"

"As long as they are fresh and there's plenty of them, you cook them any way your heart desires."

"Yessuh--I will, suh. De bathroom's through dat door over yonder."

Thirty minutes later, two spruce young fellows in freshly laundered uniforms of white duck met at the breakfast table in the dining room of the bungalow.

"Is it really the wild Seminole chief, Osceola?" grinned Bill as he stood and gazed admiringly at his friend.

Osceola grinned back at him. "It sure is," he laughed and took his seat at the table. "They tell me that clothes don't make the man, but-well, I'd never have known you for the chap I said good night to a few hours ago."

"I feel like a million dollars!" Bill unfolded a snowy white napkin, while Sam filled his coffee cup. "Rest, good food and decent clothes, not to speak of a bath, sure do make a difference. These uniforms fit as if they'd been built for us, too."

Osceola nodded. "These white shoes I've got on pinch a bit, but even so, I'm probably a darn sight more comfortable than the lad who owns them.

It must be getting pretty hot under the roof by this time." He motioned toward the ceiling.

"They'll be found and released later on," said Bill, his mouth full of b.u.t.tered toast. "In fact, I'll leave a note on the table here, when we go, telling where we've hidden them."

"They don't deserve it," returned Osceola, "but you're the boss. Do as you like about it."

"What time is the plane scheduled to shove off?"

"She generally takes the air about ten. We've plenty of time."

"O.K. We'll finish breakfast, then I'll write the note, and we'll go down to the dock. I want to get to the plane early. A helmet and goggles for each of us will be a grand help to this disguise. What's worrying me is the getting down there. If the guard at the gate happens to know those lads upstairs, and smells a rat, things are likely to become rather unpleasant."

"They are," said Osceola with conviction. "If we are stopped, there's nothing for it but to shoot our way out and beat it down to the plane.

Maybe we'll make it and maybe we won't-- Anyway, we'll have lived like human beings again for a few hours-and that's something!"

"You're right there, old man!" Bill pushed back his chair. "Come in here, Sam," he called. Then as the darkey appeared through the swinging door, "How'd you like to take a hop, Sam?"

"Oh, suh,-if you on'y could take me with you!" The old man's voice was husky with excitement and longing.

"If we go, you go," declared Bill.

"G.o.d'ull bless yo'all for dis, Ma.r.s.e Bolton. 'Deed he will. I done give up all hope o' seein' Lize an' de chilluns long ago. I--"

Bill stood up and clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's all right, uncle. If things go as we hope, we'll all be seeing our folks soon. Go into the room I slept in. There's a suitcase in there, and there's one in the other bedroom, too. Pack them with anything you please, and follow us down to the dock with both bags when we leave here. Carry them aboard the plane and forget to come ash.o.r.e.

I'll find a place you can stow away, never fear."

He cut short the old darkey's thanks and sent him hurrying off to pack.

Then, after rummaging about, he found paper and pencil. A moment or two later he tossed the note he had written on to the table, for Osceola to read.

"I don't suppose there's much of a chance we'll have the bus to ourselves?"

"Hardly. She only runs three times a week and from what I've heard, there are always pa.s.sengers to be taken to Sh.e.l.l Island. Where will you head for?"

"Miami, I guess. Any town with a police station and a jail for our pa.s.sengers! But Dad and I have slews of friends in Miami, and we may need friends badly before we're clear of this business. How does that suit you?"

"It's as good a spot to land as another. I want to see this place and Sh.e.l.l Island cleaned out before I go home."

"Just one thing more, Osceola."

"What's that?"