“No good,” he sighed. “Not fat enough. Anyway, there’s no kettle to cook it in. Let’s get out of this.”
We turned toward the door. A man was peering over the edge of the veranda. By the silken band around his brow we knew that he was a Burman and also that he spoke Hindustanee. We understood enough of his excited chatter to know that he had come to lead us to a place where food was sold. As we reached the ground the crowd parted to let us pass; but the furious natives danced about us, screaming and shaking sticks and clubs in our faces. A few steps from the hut one bold spirit struck me a resounding whack on the back of the head. It was a heavy blow, but the weapon was a hollow bamboo stick and caused no damage. When I turned to fall upon my assailant the whole crowd took to their heels and fled into the night.
“All I’ve got to say,” panted James, as we hurried on after our guide, “is, I’m glad that’s not a crowd of Irishmen. Where would the pioneer beach-combers of the Malay Peninsula be now if that collection of dish-rags knew how to scrap?”
The Burman led us through half a mile of mud and brush, and a stream that was almost waist-deep, to a hut a long distance from Banpáwa. He went in with us, and sat down to keep us company until our rice and fish had been boiled. He was quite clever in understanding the few words and the motions we made. Suddenly he began to wish that he had a tropical helmet to wear in place of the band around his brow. He pointed at the one James wore and held up one finger.
“One rupee! Say yes, sahib?” he coaxed.
“Can’t sell it,” growled the Australian. “Think I want to get sunstroke?”
The Burman shrugged his shoulders, then rose and went sadly forth into the night.
We turned in soon after on a sort of platform, with nine youngsters who amused themselves by walking and tumbling over our outstretched forms. A lizard chorus sang loud and gaily. We slept a little by snatches.
When daylight came the Burman appeared again. This time he pointed at James’s helmet and held up two fingers. James still refused to sell.
“Then yours, sahib,” begged the fellow in Hindustanee. “One rupee!”