“I mean, no sticking that kris of yours into a fellow on the sly.”
“Nonsense! What bosh!” cried the young Malay.
“Bosh, eh?” said Bob, laughing. “I say, Master Ali, you are civilised, and no mistake. It is only our very educated people who say Bosh!”
“You took the word from us,” said the young Malay. “Bosh is good eastern language, and means nothing.”
“I’ve heard it was Turkish,” said Bob, drily.
“Well, Turkish; the language of Roum. We look upon the Sultan of Roum and Stamboul as our greatest chief.”
“Oh, I say,” cried Bob; “I can’t stand this, you know. I thought you were a young Malay chief, and you are talking like a professor. Look here, Ali, is there any good fishing here?”
“Yes, oh yes. I’ll take you in my boat, and my men shall catch plenty.”
“No, no,” said Bob. “You take me in the boat, and I’ll catch the fish. But is there any shooting?”
“Shooting!” said the young Malay, laughing; “everything; bird that flies, bird that swims, tigers, buffalo, deer.”