A broad grin broke over Richard's face.
"I guess you must be Scarsdale," he said. "But what in thunder are you doing with my brother's elephant?"
"It's mine!" arose the shrill voice of his companion. "I tell you he stole it from me!"
This was too much for Mrs. Allingford, and, to make a bad matter worse, she cried from the carriage:
"The Consul did not steal the elephant! It is his property, and I'm his wife!"
A voice from the crowd chimed in:
"But 'e said it was 'er ladyship's helephant!"
The mayor's face was a study in its various shades of suspicion—anger at being, as he very naturally supposed, duped; and certainty of the duplicity of all concerned, as the contradictory conversation continued. And there is no knowing how quickly he might have precipitated the final catastrophe, if the elephant had not chosen this opportunity for creating a diversion on his own account, which, for the time being, distracted every one's thoughts. He had had, it will be remembered, a very light breakfast, which only served to whet the edge of his appetite. It therefore took him but a short time to locate the whereabouts of a lad who, emerging from the inn with an appetising dinner of bacon and greens arranged in a basket balanced on his head, stood gaping on the outskirts of the crowd, unmindful of the cooling viands. Some playful breeze must have wafted the savoury odour of cabbage to the elephant's nostrils; for suddenly, and without previous warning, flinging his trunk in the air with a joyous trumpet, he pounded down the road, nearly unseating his rider, and scattering the crowd to right and left.
"Wait for me when you get to Christchurch!" Scarsdale called to Tom as the latter shot past him, and then joined in the rush which followed close on the elephant's heels, the mayor and the landlord well to the fore; while Mrs. Allingford's driver, who was only human, increased the confusion by whipping up his horses and joining in the chase.
Ahead of the excited beast and the noisy throng which followed it, holding on like grim death to his dinner-basket, fled the worse-scared boy that had ever been seen in that town. Fortunately the chase was of short duration, for the cubicle of the telegraph-clerk at the railway station was just ahead, and offered a ready refuge. Into it flew the lad, dinner and all, and slammed the door, just in time to escape from the elephant's curling trunk.