“I wish you would!” exclaimed Chunky. “You can fly all over the jungle. Perhaps you will see Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. If you do, please tell him to come and help me.”
“I will,” promised the bird.
“And tell him to hurry, please,” went on Chunky. “If I don’t get out of here soon, the black or white hunters—whoever made this pit—will come and get me, and then maybe they’ll put me in a circus.”
“What’s a circus?” asked the bird.
“I don’t know, but Tum Tum does,” answered Chunky. “He was in one long ago. He can tell you what a circus is when you find him to ask him to come to help me.”
“So he can!” chirped the bird. “Well, I’ll go off and see if I can find your jolly elephant friend for you. Good-bye, Chunky. Don’t worry; I’ll get Tum Tum to help you.”
“Good-bye, birdie, and thank you,” said the hippo boy.
Then the bird flew away across the jungle, and the hippo stayed at the bottom of the pit-trap, waiting for what would happen next. Though he did not know it, his real adventures had begun, and he was to have a great many.
Away flew the bird over the jungle, but it did not find Tum Tum, at least in time to be of any use to Chunky. The jolly elephant was helping the white hunters catch some wild elephants for the circus. And, while this was going on, along came the black hunters who had dug the pit into which Chunky had fallen. The black hunters were Africans, and they had on very little clothing, for it was very hot.
Along the jungle path they came, with their spears and guns—for the white hunters had sold the black hunters guns—jabbering and talking in their own language. This would have sounded very queer to you, but no queerer than your talk would sound to those black Africans. And it sounded queer to Chunky, who heard it, down in the bottom of the pit as he was. But then his way of talking in animal language sounded queer to the black hunters, so matters were even, you see.