“Not green corn, Protector of the Poor,—melons,” said Little Toomai, and all
the men sitting about broke into a roar of laughter. Most of them had taught their
elephants that trick when they were boys. Little Toomai was hanging eight feet
up in the air, and he wished very much that he were eight feet underground.
“He is Toomai, my son, Sahib,” said Big Toomai, scowling. “He is a very bad
boy, and he will end in a jail, Sahib.”
“Of that I have my doubts,” said Petersen Sahib. “A boy who can face a full
Keddah at his age does not end in jails. See, little one, here are four annas to
spend in sweetmeats because thou hast a little head under that great thatch of
hair. In time thou mayest become a hunter too.” Big Toomai scowled more than
ever. “Remember, though, that Keddahs are not good for children to play in,”
Petersen Sahib went on.