“Heaven defend me from all such pricks!” said Tom Long, devoutly, as he held the middy’s hand in his. “I say, Bob Roberts, I wish you and I could agree better.”
“So do I,” said Bob, giving the hand he held a hearty shake; “But we never shall. I always feel as if I wanted to quarrel with you, as soon as we meet.”
“So do I,” said Tom Long. “You are such an aggravating little beggar.”
“It is my nature to,” said Bob, laughing. “But you won’t say anything about this affair, shall you? It will be a lesson how to deal with the natives.”
“If you think I had better not, I won’t,” said Tom Long, thoughtfully. Then, with a shudder, “I say, I felt just as if I was going to have that horrid kris in me. I shall never forget this, Bob Roberts.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense! Here, I say, have one of these bunches of flowers, old fellow.”
“No, no; I don’t want them,” said the ensign, colouring up.
“Yes, yes; take one. Quick, here are the ladies. I’m going to give my lotuses to Miss Sinclair,” he said quietly. And as Tom Long’s fingers closed upon the arums, the ladies, who were walking with the resident came close up.
“Ah, Mr Long,” said the latter, “what a lovely bunch of arums!”
“Yes sir,” said Tom, looking very red in the face; “they’re for the mess table.”