"'Nelly Rawlinson and Stanislas Tarkowski of Port Said, having escaped from the dervishes in Fashoda, are at—'"
And stopping abruptly, he asked:
"How to designate the place?"
"What, Stas?"
"Nothing, nothing. I already know,—'are about a month's journey west of the Blue Nile and beg for immediate aid.' When the wind blows to the north or to the west I will send twenty, fifty, a hundred of such kites and you, Nell, shall help me to paste them."
"Kites?"
"Yes, and I tell you that they can be of greater service to us than ten elephants."
In the meantime they reached the brink. And now began the shuffling of the elephant's feet, the nodding, the movements of the ears, the gurgling, and again the mournful trumpeting when Nell attempted to retire even for a moment. In the end the little maid began to explain to the "dear elephant" that she could not be with him all the time, for, of course, she had to sleep, eat, work, and keep house in "Cracow." But he became quiet only when she shoved down to him with a pitchfork provisions prepared by Kali; at night he again began to trumpet.
The children that same evening named him "The King," as Nell was sure that before he got caught in the ravine he undoubtedly was the king of all the elephants in Africa.
