Trapped by Malays | Page 8

be the Sultan's ally but beautiful
France, his own country, he was proud to say, and he was sure that she
too would always be the great friend of the Sultan; at which some one
at the table uttered in a low voice that was almost like a cough the
ejaculation, "Hum!"
Archie turned sharply, and exchanged glances with Captain Down.
"What did the Doctor mean by that?" said the latter.
"Don't know," said Archie. "Shall I go and ask him?"
"By-and-by. Look at your friend."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"He looks as if he felt that he was being left out in the cold."
Archie glanced at the young Rajah, who was sitting back picking his

cigarette to pieces; and then his attention was taken up by seeing the
big, bluff Sergeant of the regiment making his way behind the chairs to
where the Doctor was seated.
"It's all right, Maine," said the Captain; "you needn't go. The Major's
sent Patient Job, as the lads call him, to ask old Bolus what he means
by insulting the French guest."
"Get out! Somebody taken ill. I hope it's none of the ladies."
The Doctor nodded, and left his chair, to follow the Sergeant, just as
the Major rose again to propose the health of the regiment's other
guest that evening, Maharajah Hamet, another of the chiefs, who had
declared himself the friend of their Queen and country.
The toast was quietly received, and quietly replied to in a few
well-spoken words by the young Prince, not without eliciting some
remarks at his mastery of English; and soon after the party broke up in
smoke, the officers strolling down to the banks of the river, where the
landing-place was gay with Chinese lanterns hung here and there and
ornamenting the two nagas of the Rajahs lying some distance apart and
filled by the well-armed followers of the chiefs, one of whom was
heartily cheered by those assembled as he slowly walked in company
with his French companion to take his seat, before, in response to three
or four sonorous notes from a gong, the yellow-uniformed rowers
dipped their oars lightly, to keep the dragon-boat in mid-stream so that
it might be borne swiftly onward.
The young Rajah Hamet remained some few minutes longer, after
taking his leave of the Major and officers, and then, accompanied by
Captain Down and Archie, he walked slowly along to where a guard of
the English infantry was drawn up, the chief's men being waiting in
their places, ready to push off.
"Don't take this as a compliment," said the young Malay. "It is all
sincere, and I can make you very welcome in good old English fashion
as long as you like to stay--you, Captain Down, and you, Maine. You
make the Captain come too. I promise you plenty of sport. My shikaris

know their business. Once more, good-night."
He stepped back, the long, live-looking boat glided off, and the rowers'
oars dipped with the vim and accuracy of an eight-oared racer on the
Thames. But she made head slowly against the swift stream, while, as
the young men watched her, their eyes rested upon the fire-flies
glittering amongst the overhanging trees upon the banks, and all at
once there was a loud splash just ahead of where the naga was gliding.
"What's that--some one overboard?" said the Captain.
"No, sir," said a deep British voice from just behind where the young
officers stood; "only one of them great, scaly varmints getting out of the
way."
"Oh, it's you, Sergeant," said Archie quickly; and then, on the impulse
of the moment, the lad laid his hand on the big non-com's arm and said
hurriedly, "I've had it out with the Major, Ripsy, and it's all right now.
But it was all my fault. Don't be too hard on poor Pegg."
The Sergeant's reply was checked by a question from the Captain:
"Whom was the Doctor fetched to see? Any one ill?"
The Sergeant chuckled.
"No, sir. It was them rival niggers beginning to cut one another's
throats; but I stopped it with my lads, and then fetched the Doctor. It
gave him three or four little jobs. Some on them mean a row."
CHAPTER FOUR.
THE DOCTOR'S PATIENTS.
The looking-glass in Archie Maine's quarters often told him that he was
rather a good-looking young fellow; that is to say, he gave promise of
growing into a well-featured, manly youth without any foppish,
effeminate, so-called handsomeness. But nature had been very kind to

him, and, honestly, he scarcely knew anything about his own
appearance; for when he looked in his glass for reasons connected with
cleanliness-- putting his hair straight, smoothing over his curliness, and
playing at shaving away, or, rather, scraping off, some very smooth
down--he had