"I never heard of Abou-Ben-Din," said Tommy. "I've read about Captain Kidd and the Dey of Algiers, and lots of others—but that's all."
"Well, if you had allowed me to read the first sixteen chapters of my autobiography," exclaimed the ex-Pirate, becoming somewhat excited, as he always did when the subject of his autobiography came up, "you would have known all about Abou-Ben-Din by this time. He was a Hindoo."
"But can't you tell me about him now, just as well?" pleaded the little boy, anxious to get another pirate story.
"I might," answered the ex-Pirate, meditatively. "I might. It is a favorite story of mine, but I don't think this is very good company to tell it in."
"Why is not it?"
But before the ex-Pirate could answer, the Lion arose and roared so fiercely that the rafters shook, and many of the birds fell from their perches.
"What does this mean?" he growled. "What does all this skylarking signify?"
"I'm not doing anything," put in the Skylark.
"Shut up," continued the Lion, even more fiercely. "This banquet has not been adjourned yet. Why are so many of you standing and running about? Everybody sit down! I want you to understand that this is a continuous performance—booked for forty days and forty nights—and if some one does not perform pretty soon, I'll take a hand in the entertainment myself!"
Everybody knew what that meant. There was only one kind of entertainment that the Lion knew anything about, and that was eating. He was very good at that, and he cast his eyes about on the smaller animals gathered at the board. But the warning was sufficient; there was a grand rush for seats again, and a general inclination to be entertaining was displayed by all. Tommy and his companions got their old places, but the Gopher was so frightened that he retained his seat with difficulty, and he trembled so that he was unable to keep his sun-bonnet on straight.