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SLOWLY TICKS THE CLOCK
THE heat was so oppressive it seemed like a weight. “One, two, three, four, five. Just five more days to sit here and be eaten by the mosquitoes and sand flies, Harry, so take heart.” “Take heart yourself, boy. Rodriguez invited us to have dinner with him and his wife today.” “I feel as though a good meal would do wonders right now.” “Maybe we’ll even have chicken.” The daily fare of dried meat and cassava was monotonous. It had been agreed that the missionaries would bring their own stores and provide their own meals, while the surveying party would do likewise. But this delay was making a bad inroad in the supplies. To avoid the extra work of cooking separately, the boys supplied their share of the food, but ate with the men in Rodriguez’s party. Some twenty men ate from a halfdozen enamel plates and cups and the same number of knives and forks. Nobody worried apparently about germs or microbes. Anybody
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