“But you didn’t eat all those things?” said Tom Long, peevishly.
“Didn’t I, my boy? but I just did. I thought once that the sultan might be going to poison us all; and, as they say there’s safety in a big dose, and death in a small, I went in for a regular big go. But I say, the fruits! they were tip-top: mangosteens and guavas, and mangoes, and cocoa-nuts, and durians, and some of the best bananas I ever ate in my life.”
“You didn’t try one of those filthy durians again?”
“Bless ’em, that I did; and I mean to try ’em again and again, as long as a heart beats in the bosom of yours very faithfully, Bob Roberts. They’re glorious!”
“Bah!”
“That’s right,” said Bob. “You say ‘Bah!’ and I’ll eat the durians. But I didn’t tell you about the drinks. We had coffee, and pipes, and cigars, and said pretty things to each other; and then the sultan told Mr Linton he was going to bring out some choice English nectar in our honour.”
“And did he?”
“He just did, my boy. A nigger came round with a little silver tray, covered with tiny gold cups in which was something thick and red.”
“Liqueur, I suppose,” said Tom Long, uneasily.
“Wait a wee, dear boy,” said Bob. “Here’s the pyson at last, I says to myself; and when my turn came, I did as the others did, bowed to the sultan, feeling just like a tombola, and nearly going over; then I drank—and what do you think it was?”