"You mustn't do anything of the sort, darling," she said. "The mandrill wouldn't be at all pleased. Monkeys hate being told they are like people, just as people hate being told they are like monkeys."
David considered this.
"It'll have to hate it then," he observed. "Does it cheat at croquet, too?"
"There's the Salvation Army," said Dodo, skilfully changing the subject. "And the lions in Trafalgar Square. We'll see the lions fed this afternoon."
"Yes. And we'll see the mandrill fed. Does the mandrill eat as much as——"
"No, not so much as the lions," said she.
"I wasn't going to say that, I was going to say 'does it eat as much as Prince——' Oh, mummy, look. There's Jumbo! Hi! Uncle Jumbo!"
Their bus was just moving on again after stopping opposite the Carlton Hotel, and there on the pavement, majestic and jewelled and turbanned was that potentate who had already won so honourable a place in David's heart that he had been promoted to the brevet-rank of an uncle. He looked up at his nephew's shrill salutation, saw him and Dodo, and with a celerity marvellous in one of his bulk, skipped off the pavement and bounced and bounded along the street after them, presenting so amazing an appearance that the conductor, instead of stopping the bus, stared open-mouthed at this Oriental apparition. After a few seconds the Maharajah giving up all thought of further hopeless pursuit stood in the middle of the road waving his arms like a great brown jewelled windmill, and blowing handfuls of kisses after them.
"Well run, Uncle Jumbo!" screamed David. "What a pity!"
A thin middle-aged lady, like a flat-fish (probably the person who tells the public who was in the Park looking lovely) sitting on the seat next Dodo peered over the side of the bus, and turned to her with an air of haughty reproof.