“No, sir; but it’s all plain enough. Now, will you drop upon him?”
“I think you had better.”
“So do I,” said Peter, changing his position so that he could stand up on Rajah’s neck, steadying himself by one of the pendent boughs, and resting the butt of one of the spears upon the animal’s neck.
He had just finished this when the mahout, who had evidently prepared himself for his journey by donning his turban and his showy yellow baju and sarong, recommenced his torrent of abuse.
“Yah!” roared Peter as loudly as he could. “Hold your row, you ugly, snub-nosed, thick-lipped, little cock-bantam of a man!”
The mahout stopped short and sat staring in wonder, with his mouth wide open and the corners
of his lips ruddy with the juice of the betel-nut he had been chewing.
“How dah you?” roared Peter, in the loudest and best imitation he could produce of the Major in one of his angry fits. “How dah you? I say. How dah you? You flat-nosed little run-amucker! Speak like that to a British officer!” And he emphasised his last words by raising the spear and bringing the butt down again heavily on Rajah’s neck, his energetic action making the great elephant stir uneasily, so that the speaker was nearly dislodged. “Quiet, will you?” roared Peter, making a fresh grab at the branch he held. “Want to have me overboard?”
The elephant grunted.