"Suku jam" ("A quarter of an hour"), was the mendacious and unhesitating reply. Meanwhile a cooly, who had been summoned from the ricefields, appeared upon the scene and took up my Gladstone bag. Nothing remained for me but to pay my mendacious Malay half the number of florins he demanded and follow my new guide. As a matter of fact, Tji Wangi was ten miles away on the other side of the Goenoeng Malang, or Cross Mountain. This, of course, I did not know, and so I set off cheerfully up the side of the mountain. Although it was midday, the heat was not oppressive at this altitude (two thousand feet), and I was clothed for the tropics. When an hour had passed and there were still no signs of the plantation, I began to feel less cheerful. I stopped and interrogated the cooly. He smiled blandly. _He_ at least was suffering from no misgivings. Like the young man in "Excelsior," he pointed upwards. We met some natives; I accosted them with "Mana Tji Wangi?" They too pointed up the mountain. At any rate, we were travelling in the right direction. I noticed that the natives we met behaved very differently from the saucy sadoe-drivers in the towns. As we passed they stood on one side with their heads uncovered. When I spoke to them, they squatted down and sat with their legs tucked up under them and their hats off in a most uncomfortable way. I afterwards learnt that these traditions of Oriental etiquette were preserved by the Dutch and English planters in the interests of discipline. As the plantations are often long distances apart, the Europeans have to rely upon moral force to maintain their ascendency. Another half-hour passed and still no signs of Tji Wangi. We had met no Europeans, and I was beginning to get uneasy, when we came to a second inn. Here I ordered a halt. The shade of the projecting roof was very welcome. My eyes could not reach the dark interior, but they ranged hungrily--I had eaten nothing since my early breakfast--over the edibles laid out in front. There were fruits and cakes, little messes of vegetables, dried fish, and other odd-looking delicacies on plates. I decided on a big bunch of bananas. In payment I gave a half-florin--worth rather less than a shilling of English money--and I received in return quite a handful of silver and copper coins. I concluded that bananas were not expensive in Java. While I was eating my bananas, my cooly set to work to make a _pikulan_, or shoulder-piece. He took a long bamboo and stripped off the leaves and branches with his _gaulok_, a long knife which every native carries at his waist. By the aid of this contrivance--borrowed from China--the Javan natives carry burdens up to half a hundredweight without apparent exertion for long distances. The spring of the bamboo eases the pressure on the shoulder. On the same principle, an Australian carries his swag with a lurch forward.