“Yes, I saw him; he came afterwards to the fort, and was shown round.”
“Didn’t you speak to him?”
“Not I. Don’t care much for these niggers.”
“Oh! but he’s no end of a good chap,” said Bob. “He can’t help being brown. I took him down to the gun-room, and we smoked and talked; he can speak English like fun.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, indeed; and I tell you what it is, he’s worth knowing. He’s quite a prince, and as jolly as can be. He says there’s out-and-out shooting in the jungle, and if we’ll go ashore and have a turn with him, he’ll take us where we can have a regular good day.”
“What does the young savage shoot with,” said Long, disdainfully, “a bow and arrow?”
“Bow and arrow be hanged! Why, don’t I tell you he is quite a prince? and he’s regularly English in his ways. Some one made him a present of a Purdey breechloader, and he uses Eley cartridges. What do you think of that?”
“Very disgusting that men should take to such adjuncts to civilisation before they leave off wearing those savage plaid petticoats.”
“I believe they are a tribe of Scotsmen, who came out here in the year one and turned brown,” said Bob, laughing. “Those sarongs are just like kilts.”