“For Riz who?” asked Billy.
“For Riz Tavel,” rejoined the man impatiently, as if surprised at their ignorance. “Riz Tavel, dot means lunch.”
“Oh, I see,” replied Jack. “Well, I’m ready for it whatever they call it.”
At the summons of the gong several guests of the hotel came into the lobby, appearing as if they had just got out of bed. The boys were amazed to see that many of the male guests wore pyjamas, while the women were in negligee. This, however, applied only to the half castes and Dutch residents. The Germans and English, who did most of the trading at Bomobori, wore tropical suits of conventional make.
They were waited on by barefooted Malays who set before each of the boys and their shipmates, when these latter appeared, big soup plates full of rice.
“They call this the 'riz-tavel,’ that means the rice table,” explained Captain Sparhawk, thus clearing away the secret of the mysterious words. “Rice is a staple all through the East, just like bread is at home.”
Having filled their plates with rice, as they saw everybody else do, the Americans waited for the next move. The waiters had all vanished after depositing the rice, and Jack was moved to remark whether that was all they were going to get.
His question was answered by the re-appearance of the barefooted servitors. They bore numerous dishes piled with fish, duck, chicken, pork, omelette, onions and peppers. The guests all piled portions of every one of these dishes on the top of the rice, and the visitors seeing that they were not expected to ask for more plates were fain to do the same. The boys, however, balked at a thin curried sauce which was supposed to be poured over this hodge-podge of edibles.
Having disposed of what in itself was a mighty meal they then found that they were expected to despatch beefsteaks, salad and fruit.
“Well, they don’t starve you here, that’s one thing sure,” said Jack.