“Ho yis; de hiputmus am fust-rate grub for dis yer boy,” replied the negro, rolling his red tongue inside his mouth suggestively.
“He never eats man, does he?” inquired Disco.
“Nevair,” replied Antonio.
“He looks as if he might,” returned the seaman; “anyhow, he’s got a mouth big enough to do it. You’re quite sure he don’t, I ’spose?”
“Kite sure an’ sartin; but me hab seen him tak mans,” said Antonio.
“Tak mans, wot d’ee mean by that?”
“Tak him,” repeated Antonio. “Go at him’s canoe or boat—bump with him’s head—dash in de timbers—capsize, so’s man hab to swim shore—all as got clear ob de crokidils.”
While Disco was meditating on this unpleasant trait of character in the hippopotamus, the specimen which they had just seen, or some other member of his family, having compassion, no doubt, on the seaman’s
ignorance, proceeded to illustrate its method of attack then and there by rising suddenly under the canoe with such force, that its head and shoulders shot high out of the water, into which it fell with a heavy splash. Harold’s rifle being ready, he fired just as it was disappearing.