“How—aw—ooo!” cried Jimmy, and I jumped to my feet, when he became silent, and I resumed my place.
Jimmy watched us eagerly for a few minutes, when, left half starved himself, and unable to bear the neglect when others were enjoying themselves, the howls burst out again followed by a self-commiserating— “Poor Jimmy, Mass Joe not care poor Jimmy never now.”
No one took any notice, and we went on eating grilled turkey and damper and drinking coffee, and all the time I was rather enjoying my importance and the fact of being able to control, boy as I was, a stout powerful fellow like Jimmy and make him as obedient as a dog.
“Poor old Jimmy cut handums. Ebber so sorry, poor Jimmy. Go and die himself. Haw—ow!”
“I say,” said Jack Penny, “he couldn’t dye himself any blacker, could he, Joe Carstairs?”
“Have some more coffee, Joe?” said the doctor aloud. “Here, give me a piece more turkey.”
“Poor Jimmy go starve a deff,” was the next that met our ears, and it had such an effect upon Jack Penny that some of his coffee got into his windpipe and he choked and coughed and laughed till he was obliged to lie down.
“If I was to cough much like that I should break my back,” he said, sitting up and wiping his eyes. “Poor old Jimmy? I do like him. He is a one.”
Jimmy stood watching the disappearing food, then he sat down. Then he lay at full length; but no one took the slightest notice, for the blacks were selfishly busy, and we were keeping up the punishment for the false alarm to which our follower had subjected us.
At last this attack upon Jimmy’s tenderest part—his appetite—grew to be more than he could bear, and he sat up in the squatting attitude so much affected by savages.