"You ought to have gone to Tji Reingass," he said; "the coolies will be there."
"How far am I from Tji Wangi? Is it within driving distance?" I inquired.
"Can I take a sadoe?"
"Yes, certainly."
There were several sadoes outside the station at Soekaboemi. As my knowledge of Malay, the recognized language for communication between natives and Europeans, was strictly limited, I asked my new friend to find out if the Malay "boy" knew where Tji Wangi was. This he readily did, and told me that it was all right; that he would take me to Tji Wangi. So I got into the sadoe, expecting to be driven promptly to my destination.
But the thing was not so simple. After an hour and a half of driving over mountain roads, the Malay pulled up suddenly under the shelter of a wayside inn. While I was wondering why he stopped, he coolly took out my luggage and planted it in the middle of the road in front of the sadoe. After this very broad hint, I got out too.
"Mana Tji Wangi" ("Where is Tji Wangi")? I said.
For answer he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the mountain.
"Brapa lama" ("How long")?