Bob. Now Bob was just indulging in a yawn of the very largest size, and that rash bluebottle, never looking where he was going———! Well, well, it was a sad end for a bright young bluebottle, just beginning to see life. And still Rose gazed amiably at nothing, standing just as that departed bluebottle first saw her.
But the aristocrat among the camels here is Tom, who is white, and a rarity. He was captured in an Egyptian fight, and was little more than half-grown when he arrived, but has increased in seven years, and will grow no larger nown—or any more savage. This latter contingency has been provided by a neat little iron ring which Tom wears in his nose.
At the Zoo the camel's naturally unamiable temper is not aggravated by overloading; nobody looks about for that last straw after the two or three small boys have mounted. Wherefore these camels are as well behaved as camels can be. Tom doesn't playfully try to smash his keeper against the wall—at any rate, not quite
