“Yah!” shouted his master. “You are ready enough to come on Saturday night for your pay; but if I want anything a little extra done, where am I?—Here, give me the whip.” And he snatched it from the man’s hand and walked towards the great beast, half-hidden among the trees.
“Say, you boys,” growled the driver, “if I was you I’d just be ready to run. You’ve only just got to dodge him. Stop and make sure which way he’s going, and then get in among the trees.”
“Yes, quick: in amongst the trees,” cried Morris, and he set the example.
“Nay,” growled the man. “Not yet. Wait and see first which way he means to go.”
Morris set the example of running in another direction, followed by his boys and by the voice of the driver.
“Why, that’s worse,” he cried. “That’s about the way he’d go.”
“Then which—what—why— Here, what are you two laughing at?” This to Glyn, who was stamping about with delight.
“Oh, I couldn’t help it, sir,” cried the boy, and before he could say more there was another loud crack of the whip as Ramball made his way round behind his rebellious beast and shouted at him to “Come out of that.”
He had hardly uttered the words when there was a crashing and breaking of wood as if the elephant were making its way quickly through the trees in obedience to the command; and as the sounds ceased, the menagerie proprietor came staggering out without his handkerchief or whip, to stand in the middle of his men looking half-stunned and confused.
“Did he ketch you, sir?” said the driver, with a laugh of satisfaction in his twinkling eyes.