“My dear Wilson,” said the principal occupant of the boat, merrily, “you shut yourself up so much in your bungalow, and lead such a serious plodding life over your merchandise and cargoes, that you see danger in a paddle across the river.”
“Ah, well, perhaps I do,” said the merchant, taking off his light pith sun-hat to wipe his shining brow. “You really mean to go right up the river, then?”
“Of course. What did you think I made these preparations for?”
“To make a few short expeditions, and come back to me to sleep and feed. Well, if you will go, good-luck go with you. I don’t think I can do any more for you. I believe you may trust those fellows,” he added in a low voice, after a glance at the four bronzed-looking strong-armed Malay boatmen, each with a scarlet handkerchief bound about his black hair as he sat listlessly in the boat, his lids nearly drawn over his brown lurid-looking eyes, and his thick lips more protruded than was natural, as he seemed to have turned himself into an ox-like animal and to be chewing his cud.
“You could not have done more for me, Wilson, if I had been your brother.”
“All Englishmen and Scotsmen are brothers out in a place like this,” said the merchant, warmly. “Go rather hard with some of us if we did not stick to that creed. Well, look here, if ever you get into any scrape up yonder, send down a message to me at once.”
“To say, for instance, that a tiger has walked off with Ned here.”
“Oh I say, uncle!” cried the boy.
“No, no, I mean with the niggers. They’re a rum lot, some of them. Trust them as far as you can see them. Be firm. They’re cunning; but just like children in some things.”
“They’re right enough, man, if you don’t tread on their corns. I always find them civil enough to me. But if we do get into trouble, what shall you do?”