White! That was the most precious word in Bomba’s limited vocabulary. For it marked him out as different from the forms of life by which he was surrounded. He wanted to be different. He wanted to be like Gillis and Dorn, the white rubber hunters, the men who laughed and slapped each other on the back. There was little laughter in the jungle. Bomba wanted some companion, some one with whom he could laugh, whom he could slap on the back. Some one like Frank Parkhurst, who had seen so much, who had told him about the great ocean, of mighty cities.