“I don’t understand that expression,” said he, when the other had repeated some sounds.
“Why, you fool, that means, ‘Is there anything to drink handy?’” said the voice of Major Minton. “Why, I know more of the language than you. We’ve been talking nothing else for the past day or two.”
“Where have you been?”
“In the jungle. Where else would you have me be?”
“Where, indeed? You’d better stay with me to-night. I’ll give you something to drink.”
“That will suit me nicely. I’m a bit thirsty, and——” Here he lapsed into the simian jabber.
He curled himself up in a corner of the sofa, and took the tumbler that Dr Koomadhi offered to him, drinking off the contents pretty much after the style of the Doctor when alone. He then began talking about the sense of freedom incidental to a life spent in the jungle, and every now and again his words became what was long ago known as gibberish; but nearly every utterance was intelligible to the Doctor.
After some time had passed, the Doctor took the carved stones out of the desk drawer, and, handing one to his companion, said—
“By the way, I wonder if you are still deaf to the sound of this thing. Try it again.”
“What’s the good? I’m not such a fool as to fancy that any sound can come from a stone.”