“Come—­come avay.  My boy vill bring it.  Men are sometimes killed by zis fruit.  Here now ve vill dine.”

They sat down on a bank which was canopied by ferns.  While the boy was arranging their meal, Verkimier drew a heavy hunting-knife from his belt and applying it with an unusually strong hand to the Durian laid it open.  Nigel did not at all relish the smell, but he was not fastidious or apt to be prejudiced.  He tasted—­and, like Mr. Wallace, “became a confirmed Durian eater” from that day.

“Ve draw near to zee region vere ve shall find zee booterflies,” said the naturalist, during a pause in their luncheon.

“I hope we shall be successful,” said Nigel, helping himself to some more of what may be styled Durian cream.  “To judge from the weight and hardness of this fruit, I should think a blow on one’s head from it would be fatal.”

“Sometimes, not alvays.  I suppose zat Dyak skulls are strong.  But zee wound is terrible, for zee spikes tear zee flesh dreadfully.  Zee Dyak chief, Rajah, vith whom I dwell joost now, was floored once by one, and he expected to die—­but he did not.  He is alife ant vell, as you shall see.”

As he spoke a large butterfly fluttered across the scene of their festivities.  With all the energy of his enthusiastic spirit and strong muscular frame the naturalist leaped up, overturned his dinner, rushed after the coveted specimen, tripped over a root, and measured his length on the ground.

“Zat comes of too much horry!” he remarked, as he picked up his glasses, and returned, humbly, to continue his dinner.  “Mine frond, learn a lesson from a foolish man!”

“I shall learn two lessons,” said Nigel, laughing—­“first, to avoid your too eager haste, and, second, to copy if I can your admirable enthusiasm.”

“You are very goot.  Some more cheekin’ if you please.  Zanks.  Ve most make haste viz our meal ant go to vork.”

The grandeur and novelty of the scenery through which they passed when they did go to work was a source of constant delight and surprise to our hero, whose inherent tendency to take note of and admire the wonderful works of God was increased by the unflagging enthusiasm and interesting running commentary of his companion, whose flow of language and eager sympathy formed a striking contrast to the profound silence and gravity of the Dyak youth, as well as to the pathetic and affectionate selfishness of the man-monkey.

It must not, however, be supposed that the young orang-utan was unworthy of his victuals, for, besides being an amusing and harmless companion, he had been trained to use his natural capacity for climbing trees in the service of his master.  Thus he ascended the tall Durian trees, when ordered, and sent down some of the fruit in a few minutes—­an operation which his human companions could not have accomplished without tedious delay and the construction of an ingenious ladder having slender bamboos for one of its sides, and the tree to be ascended for its other side, with splinters of bamboo driven into it by way of rounds.