n began to
expectorate a nasty red juice, with which he stained the pure water.

"Hope you feel better now," said Bob, who, in his interest in the
Malay's proceedings, had forgotten all about the squabble with Tom Long.
"Ugh! the dirty brute! Chewing tobacco's bad enough; but as for that--
I'd just like to get the armourer's tongs and fetch that out of your
mouth, and then swab it clean."

"No speak English; Malaya man," said the Kling laughing. "Chew betel,
very good, sahib. Like try?"

"Try! No," said Bob, with a gesture of disgust. "Here, I say; we'll
buy some fruit directly: let's have a look at your kris."

The Kling, who seemed to have quite adopted the customs of the people
amongst whom he was, hesitated for a moment, looking suspiciously at the
two lads, and then took the weapon he wore from his waist, and held it
out.

Bob took it, and Tom Long closed up, being as much interested as the
midshipman.

"I say, Tom Long," the latter said, with a laugh, "which of us two will
get the first taste of that brown insect's sting?"

"You, Bob," said Tom Long, coolly. "It would let out a little of your
confounded impudence."

"Thanky," said Bob, as he proceeded to examine the weapon with the
greatest interest, from its wooden sheath, with a clumsy widened portion
by the hilt, to the hilt itself, which, to European eyes, strongly
resembled the awkwardly formed hook of an umbrella or walking-stick, and
seemed a clumsy handle by which to wield the kris.

"Pull it out," said Tom Long, eagerly; and Bob drew it, to show a dull
ragged-looking two-edged blade, and of a wavy form. It was about
fifteen inches long, and beginning about three inches wide, rapidly
narrowed down to less than one inch, and finished in a sharp point.

"It's a miserable-looking little tool," said Bob.

"Good as a middy's dirk," said Tom Long, laughing.

"I don't know so much about that," said Bob, making a stab at nothing
with the kris. "I say, old chap, this is poisoned, isn't it?"

"No, sahib," said the Kling, displaying his white teeth.

"But the Malay krises are poisoned," said Bob. "Is his?"

He nodded in the direction of the Malay, who was trying to understand
what was said.

"No, sahib, no poison. What for poison kris?"

"Make it kill people, of course," said Bob, returning the rusty looking
weapon to its scabbard.

"Kris kill people all same, no poison," said the Kling, taking back his
dagger. "'Tick kris through ma