ther, quite unconsciously like a couple of Malay game
cocks in bamboo cages, on the afterpart of the sampan. These two
pugnacious birds were evincing a strong desire for a regular duel; but
as the bamboo bars of their cages prevented a near approach, they stood
there ruffling their plumes, and staring hard in each other's faces.

"Seems a strange thing that a man can't come down to buy a little fruit
and some flowers, without your watching him," said Bob, at last.

"I wasn't watching you, boy," said Tom Long, superciliously. "There,
spend your penny, my man, and go about your business."

"Look here, my stuck-up red herring," cried Bob, setting his teeth hard,
"Captain Horton said that the naval officers were to set an example of
gentlemanly behaviour before the natives, or I'll be blowed, Mr Tom
Long, if I wouldn't punch your head."

"Blowed--punch head," sneered Tom Long; "that's gentlemanly, certainly."

"Look here," said Bob, who was stung to the quick by the truth of this
remark; "do you want to fight, Mr Tom Long?"

"Mr T. Long presents his compliments to the middy boy of the
`Startler,' and begs to inform him that when her Majesty's officers
fight, it is with some one worthy of their steel."

"Ha, ha! Haw, haw! Ho, ho, ho!" laughed Bob, cutting a caper
expressive of his great amusement. "Her Majesty's officers--some one
worthy of their steel. Ha, ha, ha, ha! I say, Tom Long, how happy and
contented her Majesty must feel, knowing as she does that the gallant
officer, Ensign Long, is always ready to draw his sword in her defence.
Here, you stop! I got here first."

"Sahib wants my beautiful fruit," said one of the dark-faced men in the
sampan, towards which Tom Long had stepped.

"Hallo!" said Bob, going up. "You are not a Malay?"

"No, sahib: I Kling, from Madras. Sell fruit--flowers. This Malaya
man."

He pointed to a flat-nosed, high-cheek-boned man with him, who was
dressed in the inevitable plaid sarong of bright colours, and wore a
natty little plaited-grass cap upon his head.

Bob turned, and saw that this man carried a kris stuck in the folds of
his sarong, which had slipped from the hilt, and he was now busy with a
little brass box and a leaf. This leaf of one of the pepper plants he
was smearing with a little creamy-looking mixed lime from the brass box,
on which he placed a fragment of betel-nut, rolled it in the leaf,
thrust it into his mouth, which it seemed to distort, and the