Dyke was still half stupefied by sleep, but he had grasped his brother’s former words, and these were uppermost, rankling still in his mind as he said heavily:
“You talked about the jackals and vultures, Joe.”
“Yes, yes; but I was in a pet, little un—vexed at the idea of losing our stock of good fresh meat. That’s all over now, so say no more about it. Began to think I was never coming, didn’t you? Well, I was long.” Emson might just as well have held his tongue, for nothing he now said was grasped by Dyke, who could think of nothing else but the former words, and he repeated himself:
“You talked about the jackals and vultures, Joe.”
“Yes, yes, I did; but never mind now, old chap.”
“But you didn’t say a word about the lions.”
“What?” cried Emson excitedly. “You have had no lions there, surely?”
“Yes,” said Dyke, bitterly now, for he was waking up, and felt deeply aggrieved. “Two great beasts.”
“But in open day?”
Dyke nodded.