“My uncle is a naturalist, and I help him,” said Ned, rather stiffly, for this easy-going address from a young Malay, who had evidently passed all his life among English people, annoyed him. “But I say, what a knowledge you have of English.”
“Oh yes, I know some English,” said the lad, laughing.
“And Malay?”
“Oh, pretty tidy. I don’t jabber, but I can make the beggars understand me right enough. What’s your name? Murray, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But the other? Tom—Dick—Harry?”
“Edward.”
“Oh, where are you going to, Edward Gray? What is it? That’s wrong. What does old Tennyson say? Hullo! what’s the matter?”
“I—that is—” stammered Ned—“some mistake. You speak English so well.”
“Of course I do.”