he sell? What would he buy? Those were the questions broached eagerly
by the inhabitants of bamboo houses built over the river. Even in more
substantial buildings, in Abdulla's house, in the residences of principal
traders, Arab, Chinese, and Bugis, the excitement ran high, and lasted
many days. With inborn suspicion they would not believe the simple
account of himself the young trader was always ready to give. Yet it had
all the appearance of truth. He said he was a trader, and sold rice. He
did not want to buy gutta-percha or beeswax, because he intended to
employ his numerous crew in collecting trepang on the coral reefs outside
the river, and also in seeking for bird's nests on the mainland. Those
two articles he professed himself ready to buy if there were any to be
obtained in that way. He said he was from Bali, and a Brahmin, which
last statement he made good by refusing all food during his often
repeated visits to Lakamba's and Almayer's houses. To Lakamba he went
generally at night and had long audiences. Babalatchi, who was always a
third party at those meetings of potentate and trader, knew how to resist
all attempts on the part of the curious to ascertain the subject of so
many long talks. When questioned with languid courtesy by the grave
Abdulla he sought refuge in a vacant stare of his one eye, and in the
affectation of extreme simplicity.

"I am only my master's slave," murmured Babalatchi, in a hesitating
manner. Then as if making up his mind suddenly for a reckless confidence
he would inform Abdulla of some transaction in rice, repeating the words,
"A hundred big bags the Sultan bought; a hundred, Tuan!" in a tone of
mysterious solemnity. Abdulla, firmly persuaded of the existence of some
more important dealings, received, however, the information with all the
signs of respectful astonishment. And the two would separate, the Arab
cursing inwardly the wily dog, while Babalatchi went on his way walking
on the dusty path, his body swaying, his chin with its few grey hairs