“Zank Got, you have escaped!” exclaimed the professor, looking back with a solemn countenance.
“I have indeed escaped what might have been a severe blow,” said Nigel, stooping to examine the fruit, apparently forgetful that more might follow.
“Come—come avay. My boy vill bring it. Men are sometimes killed by zis fruit. Here now ve vill dine.”
They sat down on a bank which was canopied by ferns. While the boy was arranging their meal, Verkimier drew a heavy hunting-knife from his belt and, applying it with an unusually strong hand to the Durian, laid it open. Nigel did not at all relish the smell, but he was not fastidious or apt to be prejudiced. He tasted—and, like Mr Wallace, “became a confirmed Durian-eater” from that day.
“Ve draw near to zee region vere ve shall find zee bootterflies,” said the naturalist, during a pause in their luncheon.
“I hope we shall be successful,” said Nigel, helping himself to some more of what may be styled Durian cream. “To judge from the weight and hardness of this fruit, I should think a blow on one’s head from it would be fatal.”
“Sometimes, not always. I suppose zat Dyak skulls are strong. But zee wound is terrible, for zee spikes tear zee flesh dreadfully. Zee Dyak chief, Rajah, with whom I dwell joost now, was floored once by one, and he expected to die—but he did not. He is alife ant vell, as you shall see.”
As he spoke a large butterfly fluttered across the scene of their festivities. With all the energy of his enthusiastic spirit and strong muscular frame the naturalist leaped up, overturned his dinner, rushed after the coveted specimen, tripped over a root, and measured his length on the ground.
“Zat comes of too much horry!” he remarked, as he picked up his glasses and returned, humbly, to continue his dinner. “Mine frond, learn a lesson from a foolish man!”
“I shall learn two lessons,” said Nigel, laughing—“first, to avoid your too eager haste, and, second, to copy, if I can, your admirable enthusiasm.”