“Olla—balloo—calle—gablob?”
There was not the slightest movement on the part of the bird, and just then the Ambassador returned.
“Hullo! What’s the trouble?” he cried, staring at the Dodo.
“Gablobbee—balloo—olla—wobble!” said the Little Panjandrum, excitedly.
“What!” exclaimed the Ambassador, “something gone wrong with the Dodo? Here, what’s the matter with you?” he continued, giving the bird a shake.
The Dodo didn’t budge an inch, but continued in the same position, his eyes fixed in a stony stare.
“I can’t think what’s wrong with him,” declared the Ambassador, with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Perhaps he’s turned into stone, like the others,” suggested Dick, mischievously.
“Ah!” said the Ambassador, clapping his hand to his forehead in a dramatic manner; “that’s what it is, depend upon it. Good gracious! how unfortunate. Let’s see, what did I say when pronouncing the spell?”
“Why, after mentioning most of the creatures’ names, you said, ”and all other prehistoric wretches.” I remember quite well,” said Marjorie, “because I thought at the time it was rather rude of you to call them wretches.”