"A game of cricket?" said Mr. Kenyon, starting out of a fit of musing. "Why, I haven't had a bat in my hand for twenty years! But I don't know—well, yes—I might. I used to be a very tidy bowler, Cameron, and perhaps my hand may be cunning still at delivering twists. But under this tropical sun? Phew! I'm rather doubtful."
"Never mind the doubts," said the doctor.
"Here, hullo, my boy! where are you going?" cried Mr. Kenyon.
"Only to try and see Phra."
"What! to-night? Nonsense! I daresay he is with his father now, and the news will keep."
Harry looked disappointed, but he said no more, and directly after they had to say good-night to the doctor.
CHAPTER XV
FOR THE JUNGLE, HO!
In due time the skin of the tiger, beautifully dressed, and with the hole made by Sul's tusk so carefully drawn together that the fur concealed the damage, was brought to the bungalow by Sree, who was eager to go upon a fresh expedition; but another week passed away before matters shaped themselves for this to be made.
Matters had gone on as usual, and the insubordinate words used by the occupants of the boat were half forgotten in the excitement of religious fetes and illuminations with lanthorns along the river, kite-flying, and discharges of fireworks, in the making of some of which the people, who had learned the art of the Chinese, were adepts.