The Circus people chaffed George because he talked to his "bulls." To Hugh it lent a mysterious touch of fascination to them. He feit that the four lived in a little world of their own, apart from the commonplace life of the show. He liked to sit near them, in which case the conversation was three-sided.—George including the elephants in his remarks quite as much as he included Hugh. Nita often came too, for Hugh's feeling had infected her. Indeed, the only time that Nita kept still was when they visited George and his three companions.
Today the keeper greeted them with his usual faint smile as they came up. Mrs. Dan had given them some stale buns for the elephants; the long trunks came out to them in welcome, taking the dainties eagerly. George looked at them with approval.
'Tm goin' to take the bulls for a walk," he said. "Like to come?"
"Lovely!" said Nita. "But haven't they had a big walk already?"
"They won't mind a bit more when it's for a bath. They'd go anywhere for that."
"They can't get it here," Hugh said. "This creek's nearly dry."
"Yes, but I borrowed a horse an' went scouting. It's nearly dry all along. But a mile further down it's wide an' sandy—nice soft sand, just what they like."
"Well, they can't bathe in sand!"
"Can't they just! It's the next best thing to water, for a buil. They're the cleanest beasts alive—they love