eyed crocodile sun himself in your campong, Tuan."

And Almayer assented unwillingly muttering vague threats of personal
violence, while he eyed malevolently the aged statesman sitting with
quiet obstinacy by his domestic rice-pot.




CHAPTER V.


At last the excitement had died out in Sambir. The inhabitants got used
to the sight of comings and goings between Almayer's house and the
vessel, now moored to the opposite bank, and speculation as to the
feverish activity displayed by Almayer's boatmen in repairing old canoes
ceased to interfere with the due discharge of domestic duties by the
women of the Settlement. Even the baffled Jim-Eng left off troubling his
muddled brain with secrets of trade, and relapsed by the aid of his opium
pipe into a state of stupefied bliss, letting Babalatchi pursue his way
past his house uninvited and seemingly unnoticed.

So on that warm afternoon, when the deserted river sparkled under the
vertical sun, the statesman of Sambir could, without any hindrance from
friendly inquirers, shove off his little canoe from under the bushes,
where it was usually hidden during his visits to Almayer's compound.
Slowly and languidly Babalatchi paddled, crouching low in the boat,
making himself small under his as enormous sun hat to escape the
scorching heat reflected from the water. He was not in a hurry; his
master, Lakamba, was surely reposing at this time of the day. He would