banian tree, whose wide-spreading arms extend over nearly half the little plaza.
Below the lighthouse, and set back like caves into the side of the island, are the
kitchen and the servants’ quarters, a covered passageway connecting them with
the rotunda of the tower, in which we have set our dining table.
Ah Ming, our “China boy,” seemed to be inveterate in his determination to spoil
our Swiss Family Robinson illusion. We were hardly settled before he came to
us.
“Mem” (mistress), “no have got ice-e-blox. Ice-e all glow away.”
“Very well, Ming. Dig a hole in the ground, and put the ice in it.”
“How can dig? Glound all same, hard like ice-e.”
“Well, let the ice melt,” I replied. “Robinson Crusoe had no ice.”
In a half-hour Jim, the cook, came up to speak to the “Mem.” He lowered his
cue, brushed the creases out of his spotless shirt, drew his face down, and
commenced:—
“Mem, no have got chocolate, how can make puddlin’?”
I laughed outright. Jim looked hurt.
“Jim, did you ever hear of one Crusoe?”
“No, Tuan!” (Lord.)
“Well, he was a Tuan who lived for thirty years without once eating chocolate
‘puddlin’.’ We’ll not eat any for ten days. Sabe?”
Jim retired, mortified and astonished.
Inside of another half-hour, the Tukang Ayer, or water-carrier, arrived on the
scene. He was simply dressed in a pair of knee-breeches. He complained of a
lack of silver polish, and was told to pound up a stone for the knives, and let the
silver alone.