“Is that music or the roarings and cries of some of the beasts?” whispered Singh.
There was a burst of laughter from the boys who heard the native remark, which made Singh turn round upon them angrily; but at a touch from Glyn he smiled good-humouredly, and then laughed aloud.
“Well, it was a stupid thing to say,” he cried. “Of course it’s the music.”
“I say, Singh,” burst in Glyn, and he nodded towards the huge drum that was suspended at the back in the highest part of the car, hung, as it were, between the curling tails of the two gilt serpents. “I say,” he cried, “wouldn’t that astonish the people at Dour? What would they say to that for a tom-tom?”
“Ah!” cried Singh, “I’ll buy one like that, and take it back with us when we go home.”
“No, I say, don’t,” cried Glyn. “They make noise enough there as it is.”
“Noise!” echoed Singh. “They don’t call that noise.”
As they were speaking the great six-horse car rumbled slowly by, with the drummer beating hard and the buglers and trombonists blowing their best; while the crowd, taking up the cheer started by the boys, sent it echoing along towards the main street, where, coming slowly along, and stretching as far as eye could reach, there was a long line of caravans, all exceedingly plain and of a uniform yellow colour, with the names of their contents painted on them in black letters.
The place of honour was given to the king of beasts, for the first of the cars bore the word “Lions;” but probably his majesty was asleep, for not so much as a muttering purr on a large scale came from the narrow grating at the top.
Tigers followed; the next car held leopards, each carriage being of the same uniform level, with the black letters; and, coming slowly after them, were about two score, kept a good distance apart so as to lengthen the line as much as possible.