Mass' George Part 47

"No, Pomp," I would say, "the first 'gator I shoot must be that one in the bathing-pool. Come along."

On we went, with the river winding in and out through the forest, and there was always something fresh to see: humming-birds that were not so big as some of the b.u.t.terflies and beetles that swarmed in the sunshiny parts; great lagoon-like pools where the running of the stream became invisible, and we could see far down in the deep water where fish were slowly gliding in and out among the roots of the trees, which in many places clothed the bottom with ma.s.ses of fibre. Now Pomp's eyes would be ready to start out of his head as we neared a corner, or starting off into the forest to avoid some wild or swampy patch, we crept out to the river's bank again, to startle a little flock of ducks which had been preening themselves, and sent feathers like tiny boats floating down the stream.

"Plenty of time," I would keep saying. "We don't want them yet, and I'll shoot them when we do."

"But 'pose dey not dah to shoot when you want um, Ma.s.s' George. I dreffle hungry now."

"Ah," I said at last, "our wallet is getting heavy. Let's pick out a place, and have some lunch."

Pomp p.r.i.c.ked up his ears, as he generally did when he heard a new word, and this was one ready for him to adopt.

"Iss," he said, eagerly, "I berry fond o' lunch. I fought smell um yesday when missie cook um."

"Cook what?" I said.

"Dat lunch, Ma.s.s' George."

I laughed, and pressed on to look for a good spot, and soon found one where a great tree, whose roots had been undermined by the river, had fallen diagonally with its branches half in the water, and offering us a good seat just nicely shaded from the burning sun, while we had only to lie out on its great trunk and reach down to be able to fill the tin can I had with the clear water.

The gun was leaned up against the tree-roots; we each sat astride facing each other, the bigness of the tree making it rather an uneasy seat; I slung the wallet round and placed it between us, and had just thrust in my hand, while Pomp wrenched himself round to hang the ammunition pouches close to the gun on a ragged root behind him, when, all at once, the boy's left leg flew over and kicked the wallet out of my hands, and he bounded a couple of yards away to stand grinning angrily and rubbing himself.

"Too bad, Ma.s.s' George. What do dat for?"

"Do what?" I cried, roaring with laughter, as I stooped down and picked up the wallet, out of which fortunately nothing had fallen.

"'Tick um pin in poor lil n.i.g.g.e.r."

"I didn't," I said; "and see what you've done."

"Yes, Ma.s.s' George did. Pomp felt um. You wait bit, I serb you out."

"But I tell you I did not, Pomp," I cried, as I wiped my eyes. "Oh, you ridiculous-looking little chap! Come and sit down."

"No, won't. You 'tick um pin in poor lil n.i.g.g.e.r behind leg 'gain."

"I will not, 'pon my honour," I cried. "Oh, you did look comic."

"Made um feel comic d.i.c.klus," cried Pomp, catching up the two words I had used. "Did hurt."

"Come and sit down."

"You no 'tick um pin in 'gain?"

"I haven't got a pin," I said.

"Den I know; it was um big forn."

"It wasn't, Pomp. Come and sit down and have some lunch."

"No. Won't come. Don't want no lunchum. Hurt poor Pomp dreffle. You alway play um trick."

"I tell you I didn't do anything, Pomp. There, come along."

He caught sight of the food I brought now from the wallet, and it was irresistible.

"You no 'tick pin in n.i.g.g.e.r 'gain?"

"No."

"Nor yet um forn?"

"No. Come along, you little unbeliever. Come along."

"I serb you out fo dat, Ma.s.s' George, you see," he said, sidling back to the tree, watching me cautiously the while.

"Oh, very well, I'll forgive you," I said, as he retook his place. "I say, Pomp, I am thirsty."

"So 'm I, Ma.s.s' George. Dat lunchum?"

"Yes; that's lunch," I said, as I laid the neatly-done-up napkin containing provision of some kind on the tree-trunk between us, and taking out the tin can I leaned right back, gripping the tree with both legs, and lowering my hand I dipped the vessel full of water.

I was just in the act of rising cautiously and very slowly, when a sharp pain in the fleshy part of my leg made me spring forward in agony, dashing the water in Pomp's face, knocking the wallet and its contents over sidewise, and in my pain and rage I seized the boy to begin cuffing him, while he wrestled with me to get away, as we hugged and struggled like two fighting men in a _melee_ on the same horse.

"How dare you!" I panted; "that was the point of your knife. I'll teach you to--Oh, murder!"

"Oh, Ma.s.s' George, don't! _Oh_! Oh! Oh!"

We both made a bound together, went off the trunk sidewise, and Pomp struggled up, tore off his shirt and drawers, and began to beat and shake them, and then peep inside, pausing every moment to have a rub; while I, without going to his extreme, was doing the best I could to rid myself of my pain.

"Nas' lil fing!" cried Pomp, stamping on something in the gra.s.s. "Look, look, Ma.s.s' George, make hase; dey eat all de lunchum."

The mystery was out. We had seated ourselves upon the home of a vicious kind of ant, whose nest was under the rotten bark of the tree, and as soon as Pomp realised the truth he danced about with delight.

"I fought you 'tick pin in lil n.i.g.g.e.r. You fought I 'tick um knife in Ma.s.s' George! You catch um, too."

"Yes," I said, wriggling under my clothes, and rubbing myself. "Oh!

Quick! Back of my neck, Pomp, look. Biting."

Pomp sprang to me in an instant.

"I got um, Ma.s.s' George. Dah!" he cried, as he placed the vicious little insect between his teeth, and bit it in two. "You no bite young ma.s.sa 'gain. How you like be bite, sah? Make you feel d.i.c.klus, eh?

Oh! Ugh! Tiff! Tiff! Tiff! Oh, um do tase nasty."

Pomp spat and shuddered and ended by washing out his mouth by running a little way, lying flat with his head over the bank, and scooping up some water with his hand.

Meanwhile I cautiously picked up the provisions, the napkin and wallet, and carefully shook them clear of the vicious little things--no easy job, by the way; after which, stinging and smarting still, I sought another place where we could eat our meal in peace.