Second Friend (with only one idea). "Progressive! Then we shall fight in the L. C. C."
First Friend. "L. C. C.! No, no! I meant the Influenza!"
TALL TALES OF SPORT AND ADVENTURE.
(By Mr. Punch's own Short Story-teller.)
I.—THE PINK HIPPOPOTAMUS. (CONCLUDED.)
A dim mysterious light was burning in the stall of the sacred animal. By its rays I was able to see not only the hippopotamus itself, but also the gaping hole in the skylight through which Ganderdown and I had been thus fortuitously projected into its manger. The walls I noticed were thickly panelled with gold slabs, on which were chased mystic emblems connected with the cult of the gigantic beast. Here and there a glittering point caught the light and gave it forth again in a thousand fantastic iridescent rays. One of these was above my head, and as I gazed at it I realised that it was a huge ruby of the first water. In the manger itself were lying shivered fragments of the skylight. I picked one of these up with all possible circumspection. It was a magnificent piece of the very finest diamond. Without another word I crammed all I could lay my hands upon into my pockets and those of Ganderdown. Then I paused to reflect.
The situation was not an easy one. We had arrived, indeed, at our goal; but how should we contrive to get away with our booty? No doubt we could manage to elude the vigilance of the guards if we returned alone. But this was not to be thought of. Either we would take the hippopotamus with us or perish where we lay. I communicated my resolve to my companion, and, as I expected, obtained his emphatic approval. What then was to be done?
All this time, I should state, the huge object of our adventure was calmly munching his evening meal of soaked rice within three inches of the place where Ganderdown and I lay huddled up together. I saw his immense jaws rise and fall with the regularity of some enormous machine, and I was able to look right down into the cavernous recesses of his being. His eyes twinkled occasionally with a sidelong look at us, but he seemed calm and undisturbed, as though he felt that we could not escape him, and that when he had done with his rice there was a double bonne bouche waiting for him in the corner of his manger.
At this moment the shrill voice of a Muezzin sounded weirdly through the stillness of the summer night. Three times he called?, and then once again all was still. A minute or so afterwards I heard a dull tramp, as of a regiment, coming towards the place in which we were sheltered. What could it mean? I took out my watch. The hour was fifteen minutes after midnight. And then, by a sudden effort of memory, I remembered that the dear old Meebhoy had told me that at this hour every night a crowd of fanatical priests and attendants, armed every one of them to the very teeth, came to the stable of their sacred brute in order to take him out for an hour's promenade through the groves and avenues that surround his shrine. The danger, then, was imminent. If we were discovered nothing could save us, and we should perish miserably with our prize within our grasp. My mind was instantly made up.