“Ah! sor,” interrupted Quin, “don’t ye remimber how yourself was—but I’ll have mercy on ye! Go on, sor.”
“Well, I confess,” resumed Jackman, “that I was a little excited. However, the Bulrampore men echoed Quin’s advice in eagerly expressed Hindustani. The mahowt took it, slipped to the ground, and ran for his life! Fortunately the excited Mowla either did not perceive or did not care. He rose up and recommenced his work of destruction.
“All this time he had been freeing himself from the ropes with which he was imperfectly bound. At last he detached them entirely, and began to make furious rushes in every direction.
“At that critical moment our Director arrived on the scene. Seeing how matters stood he at once gave orders to have the fighting elephants brought to the front, as the only chance that remained to bring the mischief to an end. The orders were gladly and promptly obeyed.
“Before they arrived, however, Mowla Buksh, in one of his rushes, came straight to where Quin and I were standing—”
“Skippin’, sor, ye said.”
“Well, skipping. But we stopped skipping at once, and took to running as hard as we could. We both ran through some soft reedy ground, where the brute overtook us. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him knock Quin into the rushes and set his enormous foot on him—”
“Oh! was he killed?” exclaimed Junkie with a look of consternation at the now heroic Quin!
There was a general burst of laughter, in which Junkie joined, for he saw the absurdity of the question which sudden anxiety had forced from him.
“But why wasn’t you killed?” he asked almost indignantly.