other. They were not the ordinary gossipers; in the faces of some were
the marks of furtive design, of sinister suggestion. But it was all so
deadly still.

The gayest, cheeriest person in Mandakan was Colonel Cumner's son.
Down at the opal beach, under a palm-tree, he sat, telling stories of his
pranks at college to Boonda Broke, the half-breed son of a former Dakoon
who had ruled the State of Mandakan when first the English came. The
saddest person in Mandakan was the present Dakoon, in his palace by the
Fountain of the Sweet Waters, which was guarded by four sacred warriors
in stone and four brown men armed with the naked kris.

The Dakoon was dying, though not a score of people in the city knew it.
He had drunk of the Fountain of Sweet Waters, also of the well that is by
Bakbar; he had eaten of the sweetmeat called the Flower of Bambaba, his
chosen priests had prayed, and his favourite wife had lain all day and
all night at the door of his room, pouring out her soul; but nothing came
of it.

And elsewhere Boonda Broke was showing Cumner's Son how to throw a kris
towards one object and make it hit another. He gave an illustration by
aiming at a palm-tree and sticking a passing dog behind the shoulder.
The dog belonged to Cumner's Son, and the lad's face suddenly blazed with
anger. He ran to the dog, which had silently collapsed like a punctured
bag of silk, drew out the kris, then swung towards Boonda Broke, whose
cool, placid eyes met his without emotion.

"You knew that was my dog," he said quickly in English, "and--and I tell
you what, sir, I've had enough of you. A man that'd hit a dog like that
would hit a man the same way."