“We ain’t a-going to be, sir, so long as we have these ’ere toothpicks to fight with.”
“That’s a last resource. Try to hurry the beast.”
“He won’t hurry, sir. ’Tisn’t as if I’d got one of them anchors, as they call them; and even if I had, poor old chap! I shouldn’t have the heart to stick it into him as the mahouts do.”
“It wouldn’t hurt him more than spurring does a horse, with such a thick skin.”
“But I ain’t got one of them boat-hooky tools. Look here, sir; hand me that there kris. Ain’t poisoned, is it?”
“The Doctor says they are not.”
“Let’s have it, then, sir.—Why, what game do you call this?”
For at that moment, before any experiment could be tried with the goad, a faint, unmistakable hail was heard from far behind, running as it were along deep, verdant tunnels, and Rajah, after flapping his ears heavily, uttered a low, deep sigh, stopped short, and began to tear down green branches from overhead and convey them to his mouth.
“Oh, this won’t do!” cried Peter angrily.—“Get on, sir—get on!”
The elephant uttered what sounded to be a sigh and raised one huge leg as if about to step out, but only planted it down again in the same deep hole, went through the same evolution with another leg, subsided again, and went on crunching the abundant succulent herbage.