“Well, I guess no one is coming to help me out of this hole,” said Chunky to himself, after a while. “Oh, dear! I wish I’d been more careful, and had not stepped on the dried leaves over the hole. Then I wouldn’t have fallen in!”
But it was too late to think of that now. Chunky knew he must try to get out before the black or white hunters came, for that he was in a pit dug by these men the hippo boy very well knew. Tum Tum, as well as his father and mother, had told him about such places and had warned him to be careful.
“I must get out!” thought Chunky.
So he turned and twisted himself about on the bottom of the pit, and tried to raise himself up to look over the top, but he could not. In the first place he was too heavy to raise himself up very far on his hind legs. If he had been Lightfoot, the leaping goat, about whom some stories have been told you, Chunky might have done this, or he might even have jumped out of the pit. But, as it was, he could only bob up a little way and then drop back again.
“Maybe I could dig my way out with my big, long teeth, the same as I dig up the grass roots at the bottom of the river,” thought Chunky to himself. “Oh, dear! I wish I were back in the river now! I’m going to try to dig myself out.”
But though Chunky’s front teeth, or tusks, answered well enough for digging up grass or lily roots on the bottom of the river, where the mud was soft, they were not made for digging in the hard, earthen sides of the pit. The hippo boy could only make a few scratches, and these did him no good.
“It’s of no use!” sadly thought Chunky. “I guess I’ll have to stay here. But if only Tum Tum would come! I’ll call him again!”
So lifting up his head, with his big, broad nose pointing toward the opening at the top of the pit, Chunky called:
“Tum Tum! Please come and help me!”