Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris. George Manville Fenn
the shaded rooms; the other was standing upon a chair helping climber to twine and tendril to catch hold of trellis and wire which made the front of the cottage-like structure one blaze of colour.
“Morning, ladies,” cried the lad.
“Morning, Archie,” cried the Doctor’s wife, a pleasant, middle-aged, pink, sunshiny-looking lady, whose smooth skin seemed to possess the power of reflecting all sun-rays that played upon it so that they never fixed there a spot of tan. “Come to help garden?”
“Yes; all right. What shall I do?” cried the lad.
“Make Minnie jump down off that chair, and tuck up the wild tendrils of that climber.”
“No, no, auntie; I don’t want him,” cried the owner of the busy hands, as she reached up higher to hook on one tendril, and failed; for the long strand laden with blossom missed the wire that ought to have held it, fell backwards, and, as if directed by invisible fairy hands, formed itself into a wreath over her hair, startling her so that she would have lost her footing upon the chair had she not made a quick leap to the floor of the veranda, bringing down another trailing strand.
“Ha, ha! Serve you right, Miss Independence!” cried Archie, running to her help.
“No, no, don’t. I can do it myself,” cried the girl. “Mind; that flower’s so tender, and I know you will break it.”
“Suppose I do,” said Archie. “No, you don’t; I’ll take it off and twine it up myself, even if my fingers are so clumsy. I say, Minnie, it’s lucky for you that it isn’t that climbing rose, or there would be some scratches.”
He sprang upon the chair, busied himself for a few minutes, and then leaped down again, to stand with brow wrinkled, gazing up at his work.
“There,” he said; “won’t that do?”
“Yes,” said the girl, with a slight pout of two rather pretty lips. “It will do; but it isn’t high enough.”
“Oh, come, it’s higher than you could have reached.—Don’t say the Doctor’s out, Mrs. Morley?”
“No; but he’s got somebody with him;” and the speaker glanced at her niece, who turned away and looked conscious. “I am not surprised,” continued the Doctor’s wife, and she looked fixedly now at her visitor.
“What at?” replied the lad wonderingly.
“How innocent!—What do you say, Minnie? Look at him!”
The girl turned sharply, fixed her eyes upon the young officer’s face, and laughed merrily.
“What are you laughing at?” he cried, hurriedly taking out a handkerchief. “Have I made my face dirty?”
“No, sir.—We were quite right, auntie. I can’t think how young men can be so stupid.”
“ ’Tis their nature to,” said Archie, laughing, as he replaced his handkerchief. “But what have I been doing stupid now, Minnie?”
“Sitting in a hot room and drinking what doesn’t agree with you, sir.”
“I couldn’t help the room being hot,” replied the lad, rather indignantly.
“No, sir; but you could have helped giving yourself a headache and coming here this morning to ask uncle for a cooling draught.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it, Miss Clever? Well, you are all wrong.”
“I am glad to hear it, Archie,” said Mrs. Morley. “I thought you had come to see the Doctor.”
“That’s right,” said the lad, screwing up his face again and nodding rather defiantly, boy and girl fashion, at the young lady gardener. “Somebody ill?”
“No, my dear boy. It’s only Sir Charles Dallas;” and as she spoke she glanced at her niece again, who had suddenly become busy over a fresh loose strand. “He’s come to ask about the men who were wounded in that wretched quarrel last night.”
“Why, that’s what I came for.—Do you hear, Minnie?”
Just then a door somewhere in the interior was opened, and men’s voices reached their ears, one being the Doctor’s.
“No, nothing to worry about, sir; do them good.”
“Ah, you keep to your old belief in the lancet, then, Doctor,” came in the Resident’s pleasant, firm tones.
“In a case like this, certainly, sir. All the better for losing a little of their hot, fiery blood. Set of quarrelsome, jealous fools. Here we are, thousands of miles from home and Ould Ireland, amongst these tribes, all of them spoiling for a fight.”
“Yes, Doctor,” said the Resident, slowly approaching as he crossed the room; “but I hope to get them tamed down in time.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Doctor, as the two gentlemen came in sight.—“Hear him, Minnie! What’s the quotation—‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast?’ ”
“I forget uncle.”
“More shame for you.—Hope away, Dallas; but you will never tame the fighting spirit out of a Malay.—Morning, Archie, my lad. What do you say?”
“I say that Rajah Hamet is tame enough, only one ought not to talk about him as if he were a wild beast.—Good-morning, Sir Charles?”
“Morning, my lad,” replied the Resident, with a peculiar smile. “Have you got a head on this morning?”
“No, sir, I haven’t got a head on this morning,” cried the boy angrily, and with his sun-browned cheeks flushing up.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I thought you had come to see the Doctor.”
“So I have,” said Archie, drawing himself up and glancing across at Minnie, and then giving himself an angry jerk as he saw that she was laughing.
“Do you want to see me, Maine?” said the Doctor.
“Yes, sir, if you are at liberty.”
“Yes; all right, my lad.—Don’t trouble yourself, Dallas. That will be all right.—Into my room, Maine;” and he led the way into a pleasant, comfortably furnished room looking out upon the clearing at the back, a room evidently the Doctor’s surgery more than consulting-room, but whose formality was softened down by the cut-flowers which indicated the busy interference of the ladies of the house. “Sit down, my lad,” continued the Doctor, as he took a bamboo chair opposite that to which he had motioned his visitor; and gazing searchingly at him, he reached out his hand: “Head queer?”
“No, no, sir,” cried the subaltern, with his brow wrinkling up again. “I only wanted to know about last night and the men wounded.”
“Oh! That’s what Sir Charles came about. Well, it’s nothing much, my boy. It’s rather a large pull on my roll of sticking-plaster and a few bandages—rival clans or houses—do you bite your thumb at me, sir?—eh—Montagus and Capulets. Consequence of men carrying lethal weapons—only krises instead of rapiers. Bad thing to let men carry arms.”
“What about soldiers, then, sir?” said Archie merrily. “Bayonets, side-arms?”
“Ah, but there we have a discipline, my dear boy. But, all the same, it has fallen to my lot to treat a bayonet-dig or two when our fellows have got at the rack. Well, I am glad you are all right. I thought you looked a little fishy about the gills.”
“Not I, sir. I managed a splendid breakfast this morning.”
“Yes, boy; you are good that way. I often envy you, for what with my health and every one’s health to think about, doctoring one man for fever, putting all you fellows straight, and patching up squabbling savages, my appetite often feels as if it wants a fillip. A doctor’s is an anxious life, my