“Tomorrow’s Tom’s birthday; let’s get up early and see if we can catch some fish or shoot wild turkey for a birthday feast,” suggested Harold as the boys were climbing under their mosquito nets. So daybreak found them trudging through the forest, but at 8:30 they returned to camp empty-handed and ready for a breakfast of coffee and bread. “We’ll make another try at fishing,” they decided. “And if we have no luck, we’ll get a can of hot dogs out of the supply boxes for the birthday supper.” At last Harold hooked a small fish some six inches long. They placed it at the river side with the can of hot dogs while they took the mile trip downstream to once again see the progress on the canoe making. On their way back, tropical darkness suddenly overtook them. Still, they located the tin of sausages, and Harry picked up the one fish they had left there. The great pincher ant which had found the fish was invisible in the darkness. As an unwitting hand closed over it, he thrust his mandibles deep into the flesh. Harry yelled. ‘’What’s the matter?” “Something’s biting me.” They got the large ant off, which took a bit of flesh for compensation, but the pain lasted for hours. Arriving back at camp, they found the Brazilian men waiting for them to play the trombone and accordion and sing hymns. At last, with Rachel and Rodriguez as their special guests, the fellows ate the birthday supper of tinned sausage. To Harold it didn’t taste as good as it should have. He already had dysentery and rolled into his hammock.
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