“Yes,” said Tom Long, “and the krises are just the same as dirks.”
“Well, bother all that!” cried Bob. “I told him we’d both come to-morrow, and bring guns, and he’s going to get some prog, and half-a-dozen beaters; and we’ll have a jolly day.”
“But,” said Tom Long, dropping his official ways, and speaking excitedly, “he didn’t ask me!”
“He said he’d be delighted to know you. He likes Englishmen.”
“But we can’t get leave.”
“Can’t we?” cried Bob. “I can. If the skipper says no, I think I can work him round; and I’m sure you can manage it. Look here, you ask Doctor Bolter to manage it for you, and say we’ll bring him all the specimens we can shoot.”
“By Jove, Bob, what a jolly idea!” cried Tom Long—an officer no longer, but a regular boy again. “We’ll get leave to-night, and start early.”
“That we will.”
“But are you sure that young Tumongong would be glad to see me too?”
“Ali Latee, his name is, and I’ve got to call him Al already, and he called me Bob. Glad? of course he will. I said you’d come too; and I told such a whopper, Tom.”