man is a human being. Those are men. Brazil is our ally at war and this is Brazil. When men come to you singing and waving torches, you just must meet them half way.”

By this time the dugout canoes were pulling up to the shore. The chant had ceased. In its place was only the murmur of voices. The torches still flamed.

Soon a procession came moving like a great, twisting, glowing serpent toward the campfire.

“Sparky!” Mary crowded close. “It’s too much. I can’t stand it!”

“Steady, girl!” Sparky’s voice was calm. His hands still gripped the tommy-gun.

As the procession came closer, they saw that most of the natives were all but naked, that some carried rifles and others spears and that they were led by a little man wearing striped trousers, a bright jacket and a sword. They did not pause until, as if in a high-school drill, they had ranged themselves in three semicircular rows before the fire. The little man stood at the center and three steps before them.

Mary tried to think what one swing of Sparky’s spitting tommy-gun would do to those rows and shuddered.

At last the little man spoke. His words came in slow, precise English.

“You are from the United States?”

Sparky and Mary Watched the Natives Come Closer

“That’s right, pardner,” Sparky agreed.

“The United States and Brazil are united against a common enemy.”

“Right again.”

“As our ally I salute you.” The little man’s hand shot up in a salute.

Thrilled to her fingertips, Mary managed to join Sparky in a salute.

The little man spoke a single word in a strange tongue and instantly the circle of natives dropped to their knees in a position of ease.

“Just like that,” Mary whispered. She wanted terribly to cry.

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