"But the ladies!" cried the doctor. "My poor little wife," he added, softly. "Well, they would be no better off if we make ourselves wretched," said Chumbley, coolly. "Bight away from all help! Not so much as a bottle of quinine at hand!" exclaimed the doctor. "Ah, that's a pity," said Chumbley. "Here, light a fresh cigar, man, and don't look like that amiable person who pulled Priam's curtains in the dead of the night. Come, doctor, I thought you fellows were always calm." "So we are," cried the doctor, feeling his own pulse. "Ninety-four! That's pretty good for this climate. Yes, I'll take another cigar. But I say, Chumbley, this is very awkward." "Would be very awkward, you mean." "Yes, of course. And we are all unarmed." "Well, not quite all," said Chumbley. "Being a sort of man-at-arms--a kind of wasp amongst the human insects--I always carry my sting." "What! have you anything with you?" "Pistol and a few cartridges," replied Chumbley, coolly. "And I should have had my gun. You know my little double-barrelled Adams, don't you?" "Yes; the one with the dent in the stock." "That's the one, my lad! Well, I should have had that with me if it had not been for Mrs Bolter. I wanted to bring it, so as to collect a little, and she said it was folly, so I had to put it away. Have the others any arms?" "Two apiece," said Chumbley. "Fleshy." "And you can joke at a time like this?" exclaimed the doctor excitedly, while the swarthy steersman looked down at him wonderingly. "Well, where's the use of doing anything else about what was only a passing fancy on my part. Come, doctor, smoke your cigar in peace. Perhaps, after all, Murad means to be as amiable as host can be, and we shall all get back to the station, having found no worse enemies than the sun and the champagne." "Champagne? Nonsense, man. We shall have to drink palm wine." "Perhaps so; but I'll make an affidavit, as the lawyers call it, that there are half a dozen cases on board with the brand _Pfungst, Epernay_ upon them, and--" "Look--look!" exclaimed the doctor, laying his hand upon his companion's arm. "What--what at?" said Chumbley, coolly. "I don't see anything dangerous." "Dangerous--no! Look at that tree laden with blossoms to the water's edge." "Yes, I see it. Very pretty. Can you see a tiger's nose poking through?" "No, no, man; but look at the magnificent butterflies--four of them. Why, they must be nine inches across the wings. Where's Rosebury?" "Oh! come, doctor: you are better," exclaimed Chumbley, smiling. "That's right; don't think any more about my scare." "This trip is completely spoiled," exclaimed the doctor, excitedly. "No shooting--no collecting! Oh! for goodness' sake, look at that bird, Chumbley!" "What, that little humpbacked chap on the dry twig?" "Yes." "Hah! he looks as if he has got the pip." "My dear fellow, that's one of the lovely cinnamon-backed trogons. Look at his crimson breast and pencilled wings."