Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction; Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; England -- Juvenile fiction
The place was fuller than it had been all the evening, and with a
rougher sort of company. The show would close in about an hour. It
seemed to Clare not so well lighted as usual. Perhaps that was why he
did not observe that he was watched and followed by Marway, with two
others, and one burly, middle-aged, sailor-looking fellow. But I doubt
whether he would have seen them in any light, for he had no
suspicions, and was not ready to analyze a crowd and distinguish
individuals.
He avoided making straight for Pummy, contenting himself for the
moment with an occasional glimpse of him between the moving heads, now
opening a vista, now closing it again, for he hoped to get gradually
nearer unseen, so as to be close to the animal when first he should
descry him, for he dreaded attracting attention by becoming, while yet
at a distance, the object of an uproarious outbreak of affection on
the part of the puma.
But while he was yet a good way from him, a most ferocious yell sprang
full grown into the air, which the very fibres of his body knew as one
of the cries of the puma when most enraged. There he was on his hind
legs, ramping against the front of the cage, every hair on him
bristling, his tail lashing his flanks. The same instant arose a
commotion in the crowd behind Clare, a pushing and stooping and
swaying to and fro, with shouts of, “Here he is! here he is!”
Filled with a foreboding that was almost a prescience, he fell to
forcing his way without ceremony, and had got a little nearer to the
puma, when, elbowing roughly through the spectators, with red, evil
face, in drink but not drunk, Glum Gunn appeared, almost between him
and the cage--once more, to the horror of Clare, holding by the neck
his poor little Abdiel, curled up into the shape of a flea. The brute
was making his way with him to the cage of the puma, whose wrath,
grown to an indescribable frenzy, now blazed point-blank at the dog.
I think some waft of the wild odour of the menagerie must have reached
the nostrils of the loving creature, brought back old times and his
master, and waked the hope of finding him. That he had but just
arrived was plain, for he had not had time to get to his master.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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