Jungle and Stream: or, The Adventures of Two Boys in Siam. Fenn George Manville

quiet there, and he glanced up at the fishing-rods.

      "Be no use to try now," he said; "the brute would scare every fish away, and I've got no bait, and – oh, I say, how badly I do want my breakfast! Is father going to lie in bed all day?"

      Evidently not, for the minute after a cheery voice cried, "Now, Harry, lad, breakfast!"

      CHAPTER II

      THE JUNGLE HUNTER

      Harry Kenyon did not run up the slope to the house, which was erected upon an elevation to raise it beyond the flood when the river burst its bounds, as it made a point of doing once or twice a year during the heavy rains. People out in sunny Siam do not run much, but make a point of moving deliberately as the natives do, for the simple reason that it takes a very short time to get into a violent perspiration, but a very long time to get cool; besides which, overheating means the risk of chills, and chills mean fever.

      He walked gently up to meet the tall, thin, rather stern-featured, grizzly-haired man in white flannel and straw hat with puggaree, who had come out to meet him, and who saluted him heartily.

      "Lovely morning, my boy, but quite warm enough already. How sweet the blossoms smell!"

      "Yes, father," said Harry, whose brain was full of the great reptile; "but I've just seen such a monster."

      "Crocodile?"

      "Yes; quite twenty feet long."

      "With discount twenty-five per cent., Hal?" said the father, laughing.

      "No, father, really."

      "One's eyes magnify when they look at savage creatures, especially at snakes."

      "Oh yes, I know, father," said the lad impatiently; "but this was the biggest I've seen."

      "Then it must have been twenty-four feet long, Hal, for I've shown you one of twenty-two."

      "I didn't measure him, father; he wouldn't wait," said the boy, laughing; "but he was a monster."

      "You threw something at it, I suppose?"

      "Yes, a big piece out of the rockery – and hit him on the back. It sounded like hitting a leather trunk."

      "Humph!" said Mr. Kenyon. "Boys are boys all the world round, it seems. Here have you been in Siam almost ever since you were born, and you act just in the same way as an English boy at home."

      "Act! How did I act?"

      "Began throwing stones. Bit of human nature, I suppose, learnt originally of the monkeys. So you hit the brute?"

      "Yes, father, and he went off with a rush!"

      "Looking for its breakfast, I suppose. Let's go and get ours."

      Harry Kenyon required no second invitation, for the pangs of hunger, forgotten in the excitement, returned with full force, and in a few minutes father and son were seated at table in the well-furnished half-Eastern, half-English-looking home, enjoying a well-cooked breakfast, served on delicate china from the neighbouring country, and with glistening silver tea and coffee pot well worn with long polishing, for they were portions of a set of old family plate which had been sent out to the fairly wealthy merchant trading with England from the East.

      "Hullo!" said Mr. Kenyon; "why, you are not eating any of your fish!"

      "No, father. Ng has spoiled them."

      "Spoiled? Nonsense; the curry is delicious."

      "But I don't want to be always eating curry, father. I told him to fry them."

      "Better leave him to do things his own way, my boy, and have some. They are very good. The Chinese are a wonderfully conservative people. They begin life running in the groove their fathers ran in before them, and go on following it up to the end of their days, and then leave the groove to their sons. Did you catch all these?"

      "No; Phra caught more than I did. He is more patient than I am."

      "A great deal, and with his studies too."

      "Yes, father; I say, the fish are better than I thought."

      "I was talking about the Prince being more patient over his studies than you are, Hal," said Mr. Kenyon drily.

      "Yes, father," said the lad, reddening.

      Mike just then brought in a dish of hot bread-cakes, and no more was said until he had left the room, when Mr. Kenyon continued: —

      "Take it altogether, Hal, you are not such a bad sort of boy, and I like the way in which you devote yourself to the collecting for the museum; but I do wonder at an English lad calmly letting one of these Siamese boys leave him behind."

      "Oh, but he's the son of a king," said Harry, smiling.

      "Tchah! What of that? Suppose he is a prince by birth, like a score more of them, that is no reason why he should beat you."

      "He can't, father," said Harry sturdily.

      "Well, he seems to."

      "If I liked to try hard, I could leave him all behind nowhere."

      "Then, why don't you try hard, sir?"

      "It's so hot, father."

      "And you are so lazy, sir."

      "Yes, father. I'll have a little more curry, please."

      "I wish I could have your classics and mathematics curried, sir, so as to make you want more of them," said Mr. Kenyon, helping his son to more of the savoury dish. "Yes, Mike?"

      "Old Sree is here, sir, with two bearers and a big basket."

      "Oh!" cried Harry, jumping up; "what has he got now?"

      "Sit down and finish your breakfast, Hal," said his father sternly. "Don't be such a young savage, even if you are obliged to live out here in these uncivilized parts."

      The lad sat down promptly, but felt annoyed, and anxious to know what the old hunter employed by his father to collect specimens had brought.

      "What has he in the big basket, Mike?" asked Mr. Kenyon.

      "Don't know, sir; he wouldn't tell me. Said the Sahibs must know first."

      "Then he must have got something good, I know," said Harry excitedly.

      "I expect it's a coo-ah."

      "One o' them big, speckled peacocks with no colour in 'em, Master Harry?" said Mike respectfully. "No, it isn't one o' them; the basket's too small."

      "What is it, then?"

      "Don't know, sir; but I think it's one o' those funny little bears, like fat monkeys."

      "May I send on for Phra, father?"

      "Yes, if you like; but perhaps they will not let him come."

      "Oh, I think they will; and I promised always to send on to him when anything good was brought in."

      "Very well," said his father quietly; "send."

      "Run, Mike," said the boy excitedly, and the man made a grimace at him. "Well, then, walk fast, and ask to see him. They'll let you pass. Then tell him we've got a big specimen brought in, and ask him, with my compliments, if he'd like to come on and see it."

      "Yes, sir;" and the man hurried out, while Mr. Kenyon, who had just helped himself to a fresh cup of coffee, leaned back in his chair and smiled.

      "What are you laughing at, father?" said the boy, with his bronzed face reddening again. "Did I make some stupid blunder?"

      "Well, I hardly like to call it a blunder, Hal, because it was done knowingly. I was smiling at the impudence of you, an ordinary British merchant's son, coolly sending a message to a palace and telling a king's son to come on here."

      "Palace! Why, it's only a palm-tree house, not much better than this, father; not a bit like a palace we see in books. And as to his being a king's son, and a prince, well, he's only a boy like myself."

      "Of the royal blood, Hal."

      "He can't help that, father, and I'm sure he likes to come here and read English and Latin with me, and then go out collecting. He said