They're Negroes. 'Shit or get off the pot!' Mrs. Eames's tough daughter remarked to Wilbur Larch, who dabbed a little of his beloved ether on the bottle's stained label, cleaning it up enough to read. The Burmese let them know they were not safe to stay and wait for Wally where they were; some of the villagers would lead the co-pilot, the crew chief, and the radioman into China.
Wally was leaning on the Cadillac, smoking a cigarette and intently visualizing an apple orchard in St. Larch was grateful not to have to use the forceps; it was a short, safe, loud delivery, following which the husband refused to wash the baby. 'Or are they here to adopt someone else?' Curly asked miserably. 'Gosh,' Wally said.
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