you're used to them, and its
safer to wear 'em when you go amongst strangers, too. He gave me this
kris," continued the lad, uncovering the hilt, which was wrapped in the
waist-folds of his showy plaid sarong. "That's the way to wear it.
That means peace if its covered up. If you see a fellow with his kris
in his waist uncovered, that means war, so cock your pistol and look
out."

As he spoke he drew out the weapon from his waistband and handed it to
Ned.

"That handle's ivory, and they do all that metal-work fine."

"Why, all that working and ornament is gold."

"To be sure it is. Pull it out: there's more gold on the blade."

Ned took hold of the handle and drew the little weapon from its
light-coloured wood sheath to find that it was very broad just at the
hilt, and rapidly curved down to a narrow, wavy or flame shaped blade,
roughly sharp on both edges, and running down to a very fine point. It
was not polished and clear like European steel, but dull, rough, and
dead, full of a curious-looking grain, as if two or three different
kinds of metal had been welded together, while up near the hilt there
was a beautiful arabesque pattern in gold.

"Ugh!" said Ned, returning it to its sheath; "it's a nasty-looking
thing. Is it poisoned?"

"Not it. A thing like that doesn't want any poison upon it."

"But krises are poisoned."

"I never saw one that was, and father says he never did. He has asked
several of the big men here about them, and they always laugh and say it
is nonsense; that the only poison in them is given by a good strong arm.
Everybody wears a kris here," he continued, as he returned the weapon
to his waistband. "Perhaps old Jamjah will give you one."

"I don't want one," said Ned. Then, suddenly, "It seems a stupid sort
of handle, doesn't it?"

"Yes; more like a pistol, but they like it, and they know how to use it
too. I say, I hope the old chap will ask you too, next time he asks me.
It's capital fun, for you can hear all his wives whispering together
behind the mat curtains, and they get peeping at you while you're having
all the good things, and are longing to join in, but they mustn't be
seen by a giaour, or the son of a giaour, as they call me. I say, if
you like I'll talk to the old fellow about you, and then he's sure to
ask you."

"No, don't please," replied Ned. "I nearly burst out laughing when I
saw him yesterday."

"I say, it's precious lucky for you that you didn't.