“Yes, but what’s in it?”
“I did not know anything was in it.”
“But you will know directly. That’s the big decanter, with a whole lot of deliriously cool drink in it. I don’t know what it is, only that it’s the old chap’s favourite tipple, and it’s precious good.”
“Is it wine?”
“Oh no; at least perhaps they call it wine. It’s somehow made with the sap out of the palm-trees, with cocoa-nut milk and fruit juice. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. As soon as you get your lips to a cup of it, you don’t want anybody to talk to you till it’s done.”
Ned soon had an opportunity of putting the contents of the bamboo to the test, and he quite agreed with Frank’s description, for it was delicious after the long hot walk, and they all sat enjoying their meal as the boat glided rapidly down stream now, the men merely dipping their oars from time to time to keep her head straight. They had spent a far longer time than Ned had expected, and the sun was sinking behind the jungle as the village was reached, and they disembarked, Hamet being ready to bear the spoils of the day up to the house, where Murray intended to commence preparing the skins at once, but found that Mr Braine was in waiting to insist upon the two newcomers dining with him at his place.
“Never mind them,” he cried, as Murray pointed to his specimens; “you can get hundreds more at any time, and Barnes and his people will be horribly disappointed if you do not come.”
To Ned’s great satisfaction his uncle gave way, for he felt no great disposition to begin an unpleasant task after so hard a day, and the result was that after a change they went up to the Resident’s house, to reach there just at the same time as the doctor, his wife, and daughter.