“I wish all tigers were dead,” muttered Fortyfolios.
“I think we had better place the patient on yonder elephant, and I will accompany him till we return from whence we set out, when he can have his wounds dressed, don’t you see,” said Dr. Tourniquet, who had recovered from his confusion.
“Yes, send him forward with some of my people,” added Sir Curry Rajah; “and you come with me, Master Porphyry, and I’ll show you a preserve where the tigers are as thick as monkeys on a cocoanut tree.”
“I’ve had quite enough of tiger hunting, I thank you,” replied Oriel Porphyry, very seriously; then directing his attention to his young friend, he exclaimed—“Zabra! are you better now?”
The youth opened his long eye-lashes, and gazed upon his patron, as if recognising his voice, and then in a low whisper said, “Yes, I am better, Oriel.”
“Will you let Dr. Tourniquet examine your wounds, Zabra? We want to know how much you are hurt.”
“Oh no! oh no!” he replied hastily, “Not now, not now, Oriel. Not now.”
“This is very strange,” observed the young merchant, unable to find a reason for an objection to a thing that seemed so requisite. “Very strange—but you can let us know what injury you have received.”
“My back and arms are lacerated,” responded Zabra. “But they do not pain me so much as they did. Dr. Tourniquet shall see to them when I return, and perhaps you can allow him to remain with me in case I should want his assistance before. You can then return with the professor.”
Oriel Porphyry appeared surprised, but he gave orders to the attendants, who had been unconcerned spectators of the scene; and, having lifted Zabra upon the elephant, who seemed delighted to regain his burthen, the whole party returned to the country house of Sir Curry Rajah.