"I say, Phra," he said, as he paused to wipe his wet face; "I'm afraid football's going to be rather a hot game out here."
"The book said it was played in winter," said Phra.
"Yes, but then we haven't got any winter here, so we must play it any time we can. But it is going to be rather a warm sort of game. Never mind; we've got the balls—six of them."
"But you don't want six."
"Yes, you do," cried Harry. "Some will burst; some will get kicked over into some one else's place and lost perhaps. But I say, we must learn to play, as we have got the balls."
"Come and finish opening the box," said Phra.
"'Tis opened. Why don't you say unpacking?"
"Because I am not so full of English as you are," replied Phra, with a sigh; and they bent over the chest and went on taking out its treasures: bats, stumps, bails, pads and gloves, all carefully done up in brown paper, while a whole dozen of best cricket balls were in as many little boxes.
"Seem to be making a pretty good mess with all these shavings," said Harry, raising himself up with a sigh of relief that the box was at last emptied.
"The people shall clear all away soon," replied Phra, glancing at the stolid-looking guards, who were gazing wonderingly at the new form of war club with handle bound with black string, and at the short, sharp-pointed spears which seemed to be a clumsy kind of javelin. "But this cricket seems as if it would be a very hot game to play."