"That's the same with my hurt, sir; but one can't expect what we got to
get well directly. Wish we'd got something to do, if it was only to
clean one's buckles and lay on a bit of pipeclay. Is my face dirty,
sir?"

"Horribly, Pete. Is mine?"

Pete showed his teeth in a broad grin.

"Well, it would be all the better for a wash, sir, before you went in to
mess. We might have a bit of a sluice. But I suppose it would be risky
to try and get closer in to the bank?"

"You couldn't, Pete. It would be impossible to force the sampan through
this tangle. Why do you want to move? We are in a capital place."

"I was thinking of getting some soft mud out of the bank to use instead
of soap. It's wonderful cleansing, sir. I know what I should like to
do."

"Not talk, Pete, for you are doing that now?"

"Yes, sir, I know," said the poor fellow sadly. "I feel as though if I
didn't go on saying things and thinking of doing something, I should go
half-dotty."

"Nonsense, Pete! See how beautiful it is all round."

"Yes, sir, lovely! But who's going to enjoy it when your inside keeps
on saying, `Soup and 'tater--soup and 'tater--soup and 'tater,' and
there ain't none? Plenty of croc soup, of course. But, I say, Mister
Archie, sir, think it would be safe to bathe?"

"No; but I think you must be _half-dotty_, as you call it, to propose
such a thing."

"Right, sir. Of course! It does look very pretty about here, but one
can't help feeling that one of them pretty, smiling creatures may be
lying in there, just where the leaves touch the water, and watching us
all the time. Here, I should like to murder some of them. What do you
say to fixing bayonets on the end of them bamboo poles, and then
pitching leaves or bits of dead wood into the water as a bait for them
reptiles, and having a bit of sport to pass away the time?"

"I don't feel much disposed for sport, Pete."

"Course you don't, sir; but, you see, we've got hours and hours to sit
here till it's dark. One feels as if one must do something. Here, I
know! Capital! I've got no tackle but green leaves. I'll clean that
gun."

"No cleaning-rod, Pete."

"Must be, sir."

"Of course; but it will be hanging up somewhere in the Doctor's
bungalow."

"Might cut a young, thin bamboo, sir," said Pete, looking sharply round,
and feeling in his pocket for his knife.

"I can see no bamboos," said Archie--"nothing but crooked boughs."

"Well, anyhow, sir,