“Ha-ha! You are a wise man. You English are so sharp. Look; I will show you.”
“You had better mind what you are doing, sir, or my rifle may go off.”
“What do you think of me, my friend? See here. There are many great, beautiful butterfly moths here in this grand forest.”
“Yes; and if you come when the sun shines, with a net, you can catch lots.”
“Yes; and I come at night. I put sugar on the trees. The foolish moths fly round to eat; and then I open this little lanterrne, which is not burning now, and then I see to catch the beautiful moths.” As Smithers’s visitor spoke, he tapped the dimly seen tin case slung under his right arm. “If I had time I should show you, sir. But my boat is waiting. I go down to the pier place and hold up my hand. My men see me, and come and take me off.”
“And all in the dark, mister,” said the sentry in his gruffest tones. “But you are not going down to the pier place to hold up your hand, and your boatmen are not coming to take you off.”
“I do not see what you mean, sir. I say they do come to take me off.”
“Oh, do you?” growled Smithers. “And I say they don’t come to take you off, because my orders are to let no boat come in; and what’s more, you are my prisoner.”
“Your prisonare, sir!” cried the visitor. “You make joke.”
“Oh no, that’s no joke, mister,” said Smithers. “That’s only obeying orders.”