Lyttleton shrugged his shoulders—"What are we going to do with her?"
"Do with her? We're going to do without her! Look here, Major Lyttleton, Zack's more trouble to me now than a teething baby. Fire that woman back to the Sultan, with my compliments."
"That is awkward, very awkward, my dear Spottiswoode—deucedly awkward. His Majesty's Government has strong reasons for being friends with this particular Sultan."
"Sorry, Major. You square it with the Sultan, and I'll attend to Zack's case. Come here, Zack!"
"Yas suh."
Colonel Spottiswoode led Zack to the rail where the negro stood shuffling his feet and looking down upon the muddy waters. Then the Colonel spoke vigorously with arm uplifted in emphatic gestures; then he stopped short; his arm fell. Zack's face had turned ashen; his white eyes bulged; he clutched at the post to keep from falling. Not forty feet away in the very track along which he had swum with the donkey, the gigantic head of a hippopotamus arose. The mouth of the great beast yawned wide open—inconceivably wide open. Sweat burst from Zack's forehead as he stared down that long red gullet, with a fence of stone teeth in front. Then the negro gasped and slipped to the floor, like a wilted dish-rag.
