And at my heels stole Jacqueline.
XI
IN CAMP
We went into camp under the landward glacis of the cliffs, in a field of clover which was to be ploughed under in a few days. We all were there except Kelly Eyre, who had gone to telegraph the governor of Lorient for permission to enter the port with the circus. Another messenger also left camp on private business for me.
It was part of my duty to ration the hay for the elephant and the thrice-accursed camel. The latter had just bitten Mr. Grigg, our clown—not severely—and Speed and Horan the “Strong Man” were hobbling the brute as I finished feeding my lions and came up to assist the others.
“Watch that darn elephant, too, Mr. Grigg,” said Byram, looking up from a plate of fried ham that Miss Crystal, our “Trapeze Lady,” had just cooked for him over our gypsy fires of driftwood.
“Look at that elephant! Look at him!” continued Byram, with a trace of animation lighting up his careworn face—“look at him now chuckin’ hay over his back. Scrape it up, Mr. Scarlett; hay’s thirty a ton in this war-starved country.”
As I started to clean up the precious hay, the elephant gave a curious grunt and swung his trunk toward me.