"Yes," said Bob drily. "I knew naked meant wearing no clothes. So you Malay folks are not savages, but have got savages somewhere near." "Savages? wild people," said the young man, with a little flush appearing through his tawny skin. "The Malay chiefs are gentlemen. We only are simple in our ways and living." "Oh! that's it, is it?" said Bob. "Well, come and have this drop of Bass. I can't stand fizz." "Fizz?" said the visitor; "what is fizz?" "Champagne." "Oh, yes! I know; frothing, bubbling wine, with a pop cork." "Yes, that's it," said Bob, grinning, "with a pop cork;" and leading the way below, he got a bottle of Bass and a couple of glasses, which they sat down and discussed. "Have a cigar?" said the young Malay, producing a handsome French-made case. "Thanky," said Bob. "What are these? Manillas?" "No; from Deli, in Sumatra," said his visitor. And then they lit-up by the open window of the gun-room, and sat and smoked for a few minutes in silence, each watching the other. "I say," said Bob at last, "this is jolly rum, you know. Why you are quite an Englishman, young fellow." "I like English ways," said the young chief, flushing; "some of them. If I were sultan, I'd take to all the best English customs, and make them take the place of all our bad ones. Then we should be great." "Yes," said Bob; "I suppose so." "Ah," said the young man, sadly, "you laugh. But I could improve our people." "Yes, of course," said Bob, hastily. "Now come and see round the ship." "No, no, let us sit and talk," said the young Malay. "I have seen plenty of ships. I know all about them." "Just as you like," said Bob. "Then let's go and sit on deck, under the awning. It's awfully hot here." "You think it hot?" "Yes; don't you?" said Bob. "No, not at all," said the young Malay, smiling; and rising he followed the middy on deck. "That's better," said Bob; "sit down in that cane chair. I say, what's your name?" "Ah; what is yours?" "Robert Roberts; commonly known to my intimates as Bob." "Intimates? what are intimates?" "Best friends," said Bob. "Yes, I understand. May I be an intimate?" "To be sure you may," said Bob, holding out his hand, which the other eagerly grasped. "But no larks, you know." "Larks! what is larks?" said Ali, eagerly. "I mean, no sticking that kris of yours into a fellow on the sly." "Nonsense! What bosh!" cried the young Malay. "Bosh, eh?" said Bob, laughing. "I say, Master Ali, you are civilised, and no mistake. It is only our very educated people who say _Bosh_!" "You took the word from us," said the young Malay. "Bosh is good eastern language, and means _nothing_." "I've heard it was Turkish," said Bob, drily. "Well, Turkish; the language of Roum. We look upon the Sultan of Roum and Stamboul as our greatest chief."