“Yes, but if we hadn’t stopped him he’d have hurt my friend much more.”
As he spoke Bob nodded shortly to the Kling, and leaped ashore. “Sahib not take his flowers,” said the latter, and dipping them in the river, and giving them a shake, he left the boat and handed the beautiful blossoms to the young sailor, who directly after joined Tom Long, who looked, in spite of his sunburnt visage, rather “white about the gills,” to use Bob’s expression.
“That fellow ought to be shot. I shall report this case,” cried the ensign angrily.
“I don’t think I should,” said Bob quietly. “You see you did upset the poor fellow, and they are an awfully touchy lot.”
“It was all your fault for playing me that confounded trick,” cried Tom Long, passionately.
“Trick? I played no trick,” said Bob, indignant to a degree at the accusation.
“You did,” cried Tom Long, “humbugging me into eating that filthy fruit.”
“Why, it was delicious,” cried Bob. “I should have gone on and finished mine if you hadn’t made that upset.”
“I don’t care; it was a nasty practical joke,” cried Tom Long, “and—I beg your pardon, Roberts,” he said, suddenly changing his tone, and holding out his hand. “I believe you saved my life.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Bob. “He only meant to prick you with his kris.”