It was horrible, he said, when they touched at Colombo not to be able to go and see what the country was like.
He repeated his words at Singapore; so did the captain, but with this addition:
“Only one more port to stop at, and then I shall have you off my hands.”
“But shan’t we stop at Java or any of the beautiful islands?”
“Not if I can help it, my lad,” said the captain. “Beautiful islands indeed! Only wish I could clear some of ’em off the map.”
So Carey Cranford, eager to see everything that was to be seen, had to content himself with telescopic views of the glorious isles scattered along the vessel’s course, closing the glass again and again with an ejaculation signifying his disgust.
“Islands!” he said. “I believe, doctor, half of them are only clouds. I say, I wish the captain wouldn’t go so fast.”
“Why?” said his companion, an eager-looking manly fellow of about twice the speaker’s age.
“I should like to fish, and stop and explore some of the islands, and shoot, and collect curiosities.”
“And drive all the passengers mad with vexation because of the delay.”