“Thank you, comrade. I say—got any ’bacco?”
“Yes; but I want that.”
“Never mind. Give it to me, Joe. I’ll pay you with twice as much to-morrow.”
Without hesitation Mrs Private Smithers’s husband handed over a roll of about two ounces of tobacco.
“Thank you,” said Pegg. “Now you shall see what you shall see.”
Peter shouldered his rifle, marched straight up to the gaudily attired mahout, looked him up and down admiringly, pointed at his handsome turban, smiling the while as if with satisfaction, and then tapped the gilded handle of the ankus the man carried, drawing back and looking at him again.
“Well, you do look splendid,” he said.
The swarthy little fellow seemed puzzled for the moment, but Peter Pegg’s look of admiration was unmistakable, especially when he walked quickly round the mahout so as to see what he was like on the other side, before saying:
“Have a bit of ’bacco, comrade?”
Not a word was intelligible to the little, bandy-legged fellow, whose supports had become curved from much riding on an elephant’s neck; but there was no mistaking the private’s action as he took out the roll of tobacco, opened one end so as to expose the finely shredded aromatic herb, held it to his nose, and then passed it on to the mahout, whose big, dull, brown eyes began to glisten, and he hesitated as if in doubt, till the private pressed it into his hands and made a sign as if of filling a pipe and puffing out the smoke. The little fellow nodded his satisfaction, while Peter Pegg smiled in a friendly way and pointed to the huge elephant, which had ceased munching the turned-over bundle of green food at his feet, and now stood swinging his head to and fro and from side to side.