"Because," Fred answered, "we don't write as the books do, or, at any rate, the most of them. We don't trouble ourselves about 'fine writing,' whatever that is, but go straight on and tell what we see and hear, the same as though we were sitting around the table at home and talking to our friends."
"Perhaps, after all," responded his cousin, "a book written in just that way wouldn't be so very bad. It's the kind of book I would prefer in reading about a country; and the fact that the editor prints our letters, shows that he's of my opinion. However, let's not trouble ourselves about the prospects of being book-writers, but go on and make our letters just as we've been making them."
This was agreed to without further discussion, and the rest of the afternoon and the evening were devoted to reading and rereading letters and papers, and answering the most important of the missives.
BAY ON THE COAST OF SUMATRA.
At noon the next day they were steaming out of the harbor of Singapore, and entering the Straits of Malacca. On their right they had the Malay Peninsula stretching away as far as the eye could reach, while on their left were the densely-wooded shores of Sumatra. The air was warm, but its severity was tempered by a breeze that blew steadily in their faces as they steamed up the Straits, and seemed to be laden with the odor of spices and other tropical products. At least so thought Frank, but the Doctor assured him that the perfume was principally imaginary, as they were not yet where spices grow in profusion.
"The principal products of the region we are now passing," he explained, "are rice, sugar, pepper, and gambier, and none of those articles are famous for their odors, with the possible exception of pepper."
One of the boys asked what gambier was.