“I say, steersman, have a cigar?” said Chumbley, to the tall, swarthy Malay, in his picturesque yellow satin dress.
The man did not understand his words, but he quite comprehended the act; and he showed his betel-stained teeth as he took the proffered cigar, and lit it from the one the lieutenant placed in his hands.
Then they went on and on, up glorious reach after reach of the river, startling reptiles on the banks, and bright-hued birds from the trees that overhung the stream.
“I say, doctor,” said Chumbley at last, in his lazy drawl, “what are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking that it can’t be long before my wife comes and finds me out.”
There was a pause, during which Chumbley laughed to himself.
“What are you thinking about, Chumbley?” said the doctor, suddenly.
Chumbley looked up suddenly at the steersman.
“Do you understand any English at all, old fellow?” he said; and the man shook his head.
“I was thinking, doctor,” said Chumbley, in a low voice, “what a go it would be if the Rajah has got us all in this boat here, and is taking us up the river never to come back any more.”