“N–n–no.”
“’Cause the cook will be howling after me directly, and I don’t want to be out with him.”
“No, I suppose not; but what about that bait for fishing?”
“Oh, that’s all right, sir. I will be ready. But don’t you think, sir, if we was to go higher up the river we could find a better place? It don’t seem much good only ketching them there little hikong-sammylangs.”
“Eikon Sambilang, Pete. Don’t you know what that means?”
“That’s what the niggers call them, sir. I suppose it’s because it’s their name.”
“Five-barbelled fish, Pete, eh?”
“Just like them, sir. Then why don’t they call them barbel, sir, like we do? I have seen lots of them ketched up Teddington way by the gentlemen in punts—whackers, too—not poor little tiddlers like these ’ere. We ought to go right up the river in a sampan, with plenty of bait, and try in a bit of sharp stream close to one of them deep holes.”
“No good, Pete. We shouldn’t do any good. Those beauties of crocodiles clear out the holes.”
“What! whacking the water, sir, with their tails? I’ve heerd them lots of times. Rum place this ’ere, sir, ain’t it?”