Harry Kenyon did not run up the slope to the house, which was erected upon an elevation to raise it beyond the flood when the river burst its bounds, as it made a point of doing once or twice a year during the heavy rains. People out in sunny Siam do not run much, but make a point of moving deliberately as the natives do, for the simple reason that it takes a very short time to get into a violent perspiration, but a very long time to get cool; besides which, overheating means the risk of chills, and chills mean fever.
He walked gently up to meet the tall, thin, rather stern-featured, grizzly-haired man in white flannel and straw hat with puggaree, who had come out to meet him, and who saluted him heartily.
"Lovely morning, my boy, but quite warm enough already. How sweet the blossoms smell!"
"Yes, father," said Harry, whose brain was full of the great reptile; "but I've just seen such a monster."
"Crocodile?"
"Yes; quite twenty feet long."
"With discount twenty-five per cent., Hal?" said the father, laughing.
"No, father, really."
"One's eyes magnify when they look at savage creatures, especially at snakes."
"Oh yes, I know, father," said the lad impatiently; "but this was the biggest I've seen."