“No, sir,” replied the lad; “only ’eerd he was there. I am to be relieved to go to breakfast in a hour’s time.”
Archie nodded and went on. The hour passed, and Peter, who had no further orders, forgot all about breakfast in the deep interest he took in the proceedings of those who had the elephants in charge; while as he waited for the bugle-call which would summon him to the ranks, he stood watching the finishing touches being given to the elephants, now browsing on the plenteous supply of fresh green leafage thrown before them by the grass-cutters, and began to make friends with the mahouts.
He tried one after the other, but on each occasion only to meet with a surly scowl.
He was going to cross to the man in charge of the finest of the elephants—a little, sturdy fellow, who only looked on while the attendants were busy over the showy trappings, the edgings of which glistened with a big bullion fringe, and who himself was showily dressed in the Royal yellow, which suggested that this must be the Rajah’s own mount. Pete took a step towards him, but shrank back as if it were not likely that this chief among the others would receive his advances any better, when a voice behind him made him turn his head sharply, to find that Joe Smithers, now for the present off duty, had likewise been attracted by the elephants, and had strolled up for a look.
“Why didn’t you come for your breakfast, comrade?” he said.
“Oh—wanted to see these ’ere;” and then, as an idea struck the lad on noticing the canvas haversack slung from Smithers’s shoulder, he said quickly, “What you got in your satchel, comrade?”
“Only bread-cake.”
“Give us a bit.”
“Take the lot,” said Smithers. “I don’t want it. Only in the way. A drink of water will do for me.”
Pegg gave him a peculiar look as he hurriedly transferred two great portions of the regimental bread to his own haversack.