“Oh! I say, I am sorry,” said Bob frankly. “I didn’t know you could understand a word.”
“It’s all right,” said the young Malay, showing his white teeth, and speaking fair idiomatic English, though with a peculiar accent. “I’ve been a great deal at Penang and Singapore. I like English ways.”
“I say, you know,” cried Bob, holding out his hand, “it was only my fun. I wouldn’t have chaffed you like that for a moment if I had thought you could understand.”
“No, I suppose not,” said the young Malay. “Never mind, I wanted to see you. That’s why I came. Where’s the young soldier?”
“What Tom—I mean Ensign Long?”
“Yes, En-sign Long.”
“Knocked up. Ill with his wound. He got hurt up the river.”
“I did not know it was he,” said the young Malay. “Poor fellow!”
“He was in an awful state,” said Bob. “Got a kris through his shoulder, and thought it was poisoned.”
“What, the kris? Oh, no. That is nonsense. Our people don’t poison their krises and limbings. The Sakais poison their arrows.”