The two boys stood staring thoughtfully at each other that bright, sunny morning, for some minutes before Ned spoke again.
“They will not kill us, will they?” he said.
“Kill us? No. I should just like to catch them at it. The brutes! To take away my kris too. There’s going to be a row about this as soon as my father knows.”
“Then you think it’s all a mistake?”
“Of course it is. I shouldn’t have wondered if they’d shut you up like this, but you see they’ve shut up me.”
“Well, you’re of no more consequence than I am,” said Ned, laughing in spite of his trouble and a throbbing head.
“No more consequence than you? Why, I’ve done as much as I liked about here for ever so long, and the people have treated me just as if I were the rajah’s son. It’s all your fault.”
“I suppose so,” said Ned, dismally.
“But if they think they’re going to do just as they like, they’re mistaken. Here!” he cried in Malay, “water.”
There was a bit of a bustle out on the veranda, and two men came in with brass basins and cotton cloths, which they held while, without hesitation, Frank began to bathe his face.