Part 12 (2/2)
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?”
<script>