“Sure an’ what else would he say, Masther Dick, dear? An’ ah, ye never saw such ugly little divils, widout a bit of nose to their dirty faces, and a grin as if they were all teeth.
“‘Sure I was only catching a fish for the masther’s dinner, gintlemen,’ I says, when, murther! if they didn’t run at me like mad, and if I hadn’t walked away I belave they’d have killed me. As it was one cowardly villain instead of hitting me dacently on the head wid his stick like a Christian, comes at me and bites me in the leg.”
“Let’s look, Dinny,” said Dick, for Mr Rogers listened but did not speak.
“Oh ye can look, Masther Dick. He tuk a pace out of me throusis, and he’d have tuk a pace out of me leg as well, if I hadn’t expostulated wid him on the head wid me shtick. Sure I was obliged to run then or they’d have torn me to pieces; and it’s my belafe they’ve been using the fishing-line ever since.”
“And so you’ve had an interview with the natives, have you, Dinny?” said Mr Rogers dryly.
“Ah, I wouldn’t call them natives, sor,” said Dinny.
“What then, baboons?” said Mr Rogers.
“Sure, sur, I don’t know the name of the thribe, but they’re a dirthy-looking little lot, and as hairy as if they never shaved themselves a bit.”
“Why he’s been pelted by monkeys,” cried Dick, indignantly; and Jack burst out laughing.
“Faix, Masther Dick, dear, they behaved like monkeys more than men, and they’re an ugly little thribe of natives; and if I’d had a gun I’d have given some of them the headache, that I would.”