“Yes, there are a good many people in Pandeglang.”
For those who knew the Regent and Controller, for those to whom the conditions in Lebak were no secret, it would have been plainly evident that the conversation had already become a battle. For an allusion to the better condition of the roads in a neighbouring division appeared to be the sequel to unsuccessful attempts at getting constructed in Lebak also such better roads, or having the existing ones kept in better repair. But in this respect the Regent was right, Pandeglang was more densely populated, especially in proportion to its much smaller area, and therefore the labour on the main roads, with united forces, was much lighter than in Lebak, a division which, covering some hundreds of square miles, had only seventy thousand inhabitants.
“That is true,” said Verbrugge, “ we have only a small number of people here, but . . .”
The Adhipatti looked at him as though expecting an attack. He knew that after this “but” something might follow that would sound unpleasant to him, who had been Regent of Lebak for thirty years. It appeared, however, that for the moment Verbrugge had no inclination to continue the battle. At any rate he broke off the conversation, and again asked the mandoor-orderly whether he saw no one coming.
“I see nothing yet in the direction of Pandeglang, Sir, but yonder from the opposite side comes someone on horseback . . . it is the toowan commendaan.”[1]
“Quite right, Dongso,” said Verbrugge, looking out, “that is the commandant! He is hunting about here, and went out early this morning. Eh! Duclari . . . Duclari!”
“He has heard you, Sir, he is coming this way. His boy is riding after him, with a kidang[2] behind him on the horse.”
“Pegang koodahnya toowan commendaan,”[3] was Verbrugge’s
