“Well, that is very nice,” said Dido, “but I guess it would hardly do for the circus ring. You have to jump through hoops, or stand on your head or turn somersaults to get taken out to the rings or the platforms in the big tent, where the people sit down to watch you.”
“I guess I’ll never be able to do any of those tricks,” said Chunky. “I have only one.”
But in a few days he learned another. It happened this way.
Every circus day his wagon stood in a ring with the others in the animal tent, and the people used to crowd about to look at him, at the elephants, at Dido and the others. Then Chunky’s trainer, who had been told about the mouth-opening trick, would call:
“Open, Chunky!” and open would go his big mouth.
“Oh-o-o-o-o!” all the people would cry, and one little boy said:
“I wouldn’t want to fall down his throat. I’d never get up again—never!”
“No, indeed!” said the little boy’s mother.
So Chunky did his only trick, and wished he could do more, and pretty soon he did. One day a keeper was tossing loaves of bread to the elephants who stood in line, that time, next to Chunky’s wagon. One of the loaves was not thrown straight, and went toward Chunky’s cage.