“For goodness’ sake, doctor, don’t go on like that,” cried Captain Horton. “If you want to be cheerful to that extent, give us a recitation in pure Malay.”
“Ah, you may all laugh,” said the doctor; “but I’m not ashamed of being a modest naturalist.”
“Modest!” said Major Sandars. “Do you call that modest, to talk big like that? But come, tell us, may we go safely?”
“That’s what I can’t quite settle,” said the doctor. “I don’t know what to say to you. A week’s hunting picnic would be very nice.”
“Splendid,” said everybody.
“And you’d have a good supply of tents? I can’t have my men sleeping in the open air.”
“Abundance of everything,” said Major Sandars. “Regular commissariat stores—mess tent, and the rest of it.”
“Stop a minute,” said the doctor, “not so fast. You see, what I’m afraid of is fever.”
“We all are,” said Captain Horton. “Never mind, take a barrel and keep a strong solution of quinine always on tap for us. Now then, may we go? You see if it was on duty we shouldn’t study a moment, but as it’s a case of pleasuring—”
“And keeping up good relations with the sultan,” said the resident.