"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?"