“Well, that’s all right,” said Mr. Linton. “Stow them in my pocket and come along.”
Out in the street there were unusual signs of bustle. People were hurrying along the footpath. The blare of brass instruments came from the big circus tent, round which was lingering every small boy of Cunjee who could not gain admission. Horses were tied to adjoining fences, considerably disquieted by the brazen strains of the band. It was very cheerful and inspiring, and Norah capered gently as she trotted along by her father.
Mr. Linton gave up his tickets at the first tent, and they passed in to view the menagerie—a queer collection, but wonderful enough in the eyes of Cunjee. The big elephant held pride of place, as he stood in his corner and sleepily waved his trunk at the aggravating flies. Norah loved him from the first, and in a moment was stroking his trunk, somewhat to her father’s anxiety.
“I hope he’s safe?” he asked an attendant.
“Bless you, yes, sir,” said that worthy, resplendent in dingy scarlet uniform. “He alwuz knows if people ain’t afraid of him. Try him with this, missy.” “This” was an apple, and Jumbo deigned to accept it at Norah’s hands, and crunched it serenely.
“He’s just dear,” said Norah, parting reluctantly from the huge swaying brute and giving him a final pat as she went.
“Better than Bobs?” asked her father.
“Pooh!” said Norah loftily. “What’s this rum thing?”
“A wildebeest,” read her father. “He doesn’t look like it.”
“Pretty tame beast, I think,” Norah observed, surveying the stolid-looking animal before her. “Show me something really wild, Daddy.”