Neither spoke, but stood gazing up through the elm boughs, their thoughts far away in Northern India, dwelling upon active monkeys, peacocks and other gorgeously plumaged birds, tigers haunting nullahs and crouching among the reeds. All at once there was a strange panting sound, and a scratching behind them on the park-palings which made the two lads start away and turn to gaze at their late support, for the sound suggested, if not a tiger some other savage beast trying to climb the division between the Doctor’s premises and the adjoining estate.
The next moment eight fat fingers appeared grasping the palings, there was the scratching of a boot on one of the supporting posts, and a round, red, fat face rose above the top of the fence like a small representation of the sun gradually topping a bank of mist upon a foggy morning.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
His Great Attraction.
“Mr Ramball!” cried the boys in a breath. “Aha! Good-morning! Only to think of me looking over here to see if I could catch sight of you two young gents, and hitting upon just the right spot, and— Oh my!”
There was a rushing sound as the wild-beast proprietor suddenly disappeared—so suddenly that, moved as by one impulse, the two lads made a dash at the palings, sprang up, and held on to look over, and see Ramball seated on the ground in the act of taking off his hat and extricating his yellow silk handkerchief to dab his bald and dewy head.
“Hurt?” cried Glyn anxiously. “Well, I—I don’t quite know yet,” said their unexpected visitor. “I haven’t sat down as quick as that for a precious long time. Well, no, I don’t think I am; it wasn’t pleasant, though. But my toe might have given me notice that it was coming off that ledge. Well, how are you? If you’d come over here I’d offer to shake hands, but I would rather sit still for a few minutes to get my breath again. It seemed to be all knocked out of me at once.”