This thought resulted in his finding another hiding-place for his newly acquired treasure.
“We are getting on,” he said in a satisfied way—“only got to smug a couple of krises, and there we are. I say, my leg smarts, and I should like to have a look at it; but I won’t light a match, because it would be risky in amongst these leaves—and I ain’t got one. Well, that will do for to-night, so good-night. I am beginning to think I am tired.”
Before five minutes had elapsed Peter Pegg proved the truth of his assertion by the utterance of a very regular snore, which kept time with his breath till broad daylight, when he started up.
“Réveillé, comrade!” he cried aloud; and then, “Blest if it ain’t that helephant again!”
Chapter Twenty Three.
More about a Friend.
“All right, old man,” cried Peter Pegg, as he sprang up and crossed to the door, where his visitor was chuntering, as the lad called it, and making a succession of peculiar snorts as he waved his trunk up and down. “What’s the matter? Want some breakfast?” And after a moment’s hesitation he stretched out his hand and began to stroke the great, prehensile organ that was now passed over his shoulders and down his sides. “You won’t hurt me, will you, old chap? That’ll do. Steady, and I will get you some breakfast.”
The quiet, soothing tone of the lad’s voice seemed to convey his meaning, for the elephant curved the end of his trunk right upwards and began to trumpet.