"Yes," replied the General; "their mode of sepulture, for instance, is peculiar. When a man dies, they simply put his body up a tree."
("Whence the slang term 'up a tree,' I suppose," muttered Mr. Quentin, sotto voce.)
"And when the fowls of the air have picked his bones, they remove the remains, and present his skull to the widow, who wears it round her neck, slung to a string."
"But will freely part with it at any time," added Dr. Malone, who had now joined the group, "aye, even in the early days of her affliction, in consideration of a bottle of rum."
"And pray what about the men?" inquired Helen, jealous for her sex.
"Oh, their tastes are comparatively simple," responded the doctor; "they are all a prey to a devouring passion for—you will never guess what—tall hats! I believe some firm in Calcutta drives a brisk trade with this place and the Nicobars, bartering old tiles for cocoa-nuts. When a chief dies, he can have no nobler monument in the eyes of his survivors than a pile of tall hats impaled above his grave. They are almost the only article they care about, and I suppose they have an idea that it endows them with dignity and height; besides the hat, a few rags, and a necklace of human finger-bones, and their costume is complete."
"They have another weakness," put in the General—"dogs. We get rid of all the barrack curs in that way."
"What! to eat?" almost screamed Miss Denis.
"No, no; they are very much prized—merely to look at. I wish to goodness we could export that brute of Mrs. Creery's!"
"She would far sooner be exported herself!" said Dr. Malone. "What was his last feat, sir?"