“I’m not going to sit in Sam’s pan or anybody else’s pan,” cried Ned. “I want to lie down and rest. That elephant has shaken me all to pieces, and I’m so sore; I’m just as if I had been caned all over.”
“Perhaps you have,” said Frank, laughingly. “Your uncle has been giving it to you. I say though, seriously, I’ll ask the rajah to give you a set of native togs. You’d find them so cool and comfortable.”
“And look just such a guy as you do.”
“You want me to punch your head, Ned. Guy, indeed!”
“Do. Try.”
“Not I. Ill-tempered beggar, that’s what you are. I say, there are no guards watching us. Let’s go and have a game somewhere.”
“Yes, a game at coffee and cushions,” said Ned. “Here we are.—I say, Hamet, can you give us some coffee, quick?”
The Malay was busy arranging the rifle and guns which had been used that day, and he nodded; but, instead of hurrying to prepare the meal, he laid his hand on Ned’s arm.
“Something wrong?” he said. “Trouble?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Ned, carelessly; “nothing much. Why do you ask?”