“Now,” said the doctor, “what next? Matches and a lantern.”
These were placed ready; a few comforting words said to the ladies—who were now calm, firm, and helpful, looking strangely Malayan in their garb, for they had trenched upon a store which, they had saved up as mementoes of their sojourn in the jungle—and then all sat down to listen and wait, the strange forest sounds coming faintly to their ears, mingled with the occasional mutterings of their guard.
Chapter Twenty Three.
Ned is Obstinate.
Tim acted his part well. He strolled out from his “panthry,” and sauntered along to where the chief of the guard stood gazing at him sternly; and trusting to the pretty good smattering of Malay he had picked up, he said quietly: “Going to be on guard all night?” The Malay nodded.
“Sorry for you,” said Tim, beginning to fill his pipe. “I did six months’ soldiering myself when I was a mere lad, and it was hard work keeping awake on sentry-go.”
He struck a match and lit his pipe, lighting up the scowling face of the guard and his own good-humoured phiz.
“I say,” he continued, “next boat you gentlemen overhaul, look sharp after the matches, if they’ve brought any up from Malacca, for we’re getting short, and I don’t care to take to the flint and steel.”