A storm is brewing, as I hear a thunder peal; no clouds above—some are in the vista, rapidly drawing near, close to the ground. What an odd hurricane! No; with bounds and roars a herd of white lions rush into near precinct and wait, low crouched. Their long pink-tinted manes make them so handsome I forget they are fierce. Some are grand and nervous looking, others young and playful. Calling one of the latter by name, it wriggles from the rest to go to Show Off. Saucy stepping up too frightens it back; but trying again he coaxes it to him, where Saucy also strokes it, saying: “You must give it to me to take to America,” bless her.
A shout and he strides its back, then with merry bounds, race and glee, they give us quite a circus.
My attention is called to my side by a mysterious self-satisfied lisp. I turn to see Charley who is taking notes for future lectures. I look over to get the train of ideas. What do I see—“How lions dance in our country; machines put in their mouths, they sing.”
“O Charley, what a drop. I had counted on your wonderful conversion, and here are you improvising wonders.”
Roban is getting social. “There are not many lions now. They were dangerous; the city filling up has thinned them out. Do you want one?”
I am still in chagrin, so answer crossly the sweet-tempered lady, “What for? Will it take me home on its back?”
She eyes me sideways, still serene. “Do you want to go home?” I choke up in golden silence. “When you want to go the Traveler will take you,” complacently.
Roused to ire at my earnestness being taken for jest, I launch out disrespectfully, “That crusty man would drop me over an iceberg and think his duty done.”
She does not heed me as her sister Robet is now approaching quite rosy cheeked, and is about to dance me up and down, which I never allow, when I can help myself.
Roban says to her sorrowfully, “The little dear is going home with the Traveler.”