“Not it. A thing like that doesn’t want any poison upon it.”
“But krises are poisoned.”
“I never saw one that was, and father says he never did. He has asked several of the big men here about them, and they always laugh and say it is nonsense; that the only poison in them is given by a good strong arm. Everybody wears a kris here,” he continued, as he returned the weapon to his waistband. “Perhaps old Jamjah will give you one.”
“I don’t want one,” said Ned. Then, suddenly, “It seems a stupid sort of handle, doesn’t it?”
“Yes; more like a pistol, but they like it, and they know how to use it too. I say, I hope the old chap will ask you too, next time he asks me. It’s capital fun, for you can hear all his wives whispering together behind the mat curtains, and they get peeping at you while you’re having all the good things, and are longing to join in, but they mustn’t be seen by a giaour, or the son of a giaour, as they call me. I say, if you like I’ll talk to the old fellow about you, and then he’s sure to ask you.”
“No, don’t please,” replied Ned. “I nearly burst out laughing when I saw him yesterday.”
“I say, it’s precious lucky for you that you didn’t. He’d never have forgiven you. Had he got on his grand uniform? Yes, he would have, to show himself off, and he does look comic in it too. You see it was made for him at a guess in London; and, my! it is rum to see him straddling about in it sometimes. He’s just like a peacock, and as proud of his feathers. But if you had laughed it would have been horrible. So mind what you are about, for he’s sure to ask you some day, and he’ll call you ‘goo-ood boy’ if you eat enough. I taught the old cock parrot to say that. But, I say, aren’t you getting hungry?”
“Yes,” said Ned, quickly, for that seemed to account for a faint feeling from which he suffered.
“So am I. Daresay the old croc is,” said the lad, grinning.
“Oh!” cried Ned, offering his hand, “I am grateful to you for that.”