TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.
(By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller.)
I.—THE PINK HIPPOPOTAMUS. (continued.)
I ought to mention that the Ranee, the aunt of my darling Chuddah, was as susceptible as she was haughty and ferocious. During my stay in the capital I had had several interviews with her, and I could not disguise from myself—why should I?—that she regarded me with no common favour. Indeed, she had taken the somewhat extreme step of informing me semi-officially (so that she might afterwards, if necessary, be at liberty to disavow it) that, if I would only consent to marry her, she would undertake to poison Sir Bonamy Battlehorn. I should thus be elevated not only to the supreme command of the British forces, but also to the throne of the Diamond City. But I withstood her blandishments, captivated, as I was, by the tender maidenly loveliness of Chuddah, and the wicked old woman had sworn to have her revenge. I had, of course, a staunch ally in her brother, the Meebhoy, but in his disabled condition, that veteran warrior could be of little real use to me. Still he knew of my love for his niece Chuddah, and, knowing all my worth, he had already consecrated with his blessing our prospective union. On this particular evening I found Chuddah in her cosy little boudoir alone, save for the presence of her stout and comfortable old Ayah or Nana. The darling girl sprang up as I entered the room and threw herself into my arms in a passion of affection. I gently disengaged her arms from about my neck, and proceeded, as best I could, to inform her that I had come to take leave of her for a short time. Her grief was terrible to witness.
"Oh, my own!" she sobbed (I translate her language); "my very, very own, my tall and gorgeously beautiful son of the fair-faced English, my moon of radiant splendour, my star of aspiring hope, say not thou art come to say farewell, say it not my dearest Duffadar, for Chuddah cannot bear it."
"Hist! What is that sound?"
"But, my darling," I urged, "duty calls, and Chuddah would not have her Orlando flinch."
The beautiful girl admitted the force of this appeal and a renewed scene of affectionate leave-taking took place. Suddenly the Ayah, who up to this moment had been dozing in her arm-chair, rose, and holding up a warning hand said, "Hist!"
We did so, alarmed by the impressive air of the good old nurse.
"Hist! What is that sound?"
I listened intently, and sure enough heard a faint tapping, proceeding apparently from the floor under my feet.
"I suspect treachery," continued the Ayah hurriedly. "'Twas only yester morn I saw Youbyoub scowling at us as we passed by on our early walk. Oh, beware, my lord, of Youbyoub."
This Youbyoub, I ought to say, was the young and bloodthirsty Prince of the Lozen Jehs, a tribe of wild warriors from the north. Betrothed to the beautiful Chuddah at an early age, he naturally viewed with hatred the advent of one on whom nature had bestowed her favours so bountifully, and who was bound, therefore, to make himself dear to Chuddah. I knew he detested me, but I had hitherto scorned him. I was now to discover my mistake.
Scarcely had the words left the Ayah's lips when a loud rumbling made itself heard: the floor seemed to heave in one terrific crash, there was a horrible explosion, and before I had time to realise what had happened we three, Chuddah, the Ayah and I, were being propelled upwards into space at the rate of at least a thousand miles an hour.
(To be continued.)
"Are you comin' 'ome?"
"I'll do ellythik you like in reasol, M'ria—(hic)—Bur I won't come 'ome."