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Jungle and Stream: or, The Adventures of Two Boys in Siam
Jungle and Stream; Or, The Adventures of Two Boys in Siam
CHAPTER I
SIXTY YEARS AGO
"Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling!" was sung in a good, clear, boyish tenor, and then the singer stopped, to say impatiently, —
"What nonsense it is! My head seems stuffed full of Scotch songs, – 'Wee bit sangs,' as the doctor calls them. Seems funny that so many Scotch people should come out here to the East. I suppose it's because the Irish all go to the West, that they may get as far apart as they can, so that there may not be a fight. I say, though, I want my breakfast."
The speaker, to wit Harry Kenyon, sauntered up to the verandah of the bungalow and looked in at the window of the cool, shaded room, where a man-servant in white drill jacket and trousers was giving the finishing touches to the table.
"Breakfast ready, Mike?"
"Yes, sir; coffee's boiled, curry's made."
"Curry again?"
"Yes, Master Harry; curry again. That heathen of a cook don't believe a meal's complete without curry and rice."
"But I thought we were going to have fried fish this morning."
"So did I, sir. I told him plainly enough; but he won't understand, and he's curried the lot."
"How tiresome!"