Hunting the Lions | Page 3

he should study medicine, not with a view to
practising it professionally, but because he held it to be very desirable
that every one travelling in the unhealthy regions of South Africa
should possess as much knowledge of medicine as possible.
One morning young Dr Brown received a letter from his father which
ran as follows:--
"MY DEAR TOM,--A capital opportunity of letting you see a little of
the country in which I hope you will ultimately make your fortune has
turned up just now. Two officers of the Cape Rifles have made up their
minds to go on a hunting excursion into the interior with a trader
named Hicks, and want a third man to join them. I knew you would like
to go on such an expedition, remembering your leaning in that direction

in days of old, so I have pledged you to them. As they start three
months hence, the sooner you come out the better. I enclose a letter of
credit to enable you to fit out and start at once. Your mother and sisters
are all well, and send love.--YOUR AFFECTIONATE FATHER, J.B."
Tom Brown uttered a wild cheer of delight on reading this brief and
business-like epistle, and his curious landlady immediately answered to
the shout by entering and wishing to know "if he had called and if he
wanted hanythink?"
"No, Mrs Pry, I did not call; but I ventured to express my feelings in
regard to a piece of good news which I have just received."
"La, sir!"
"Yes, Mrs Pry, I'm going off immediately to South Africa to hunt
lions."
"You don't mean it, sir!"
"Indeed I do, Mrs Pry; so pray let me have breakfast without delay, and
make up my bill to the end of the week; I shall leave you then. Sorry to
part, Mrs Pry. I have been very comfortable with you."
"I 'ope so, sir."
"Yes, very comfortable; and you may be assured that I shall
recommend your lodgings highly wherever I go--not that there is much
chance of my recommendation doing you any good, for out in the
African bush I sha'n't see many men who want furnished lodgings in
London, and wild beasts are not likely to make inquiries, being already
well provided in that way at home. By the way, when you make up
your bill, don't forget to charge me with the tumbler I smashed
yesterday in making chemical experiments, and the tea-pot cracked in
the same good cause. Accidents will happen, you know, Mrs Pry, and
bachelors are bound to pay for 'em."
"Certainly, sir; and please, sir, what am I to do with the cupboard full

of skulls and 'uman bones downstairs?"
"Anything you choose, Mrs Pry," said Tom, laughing; "I shall trouble
my head no more with such things, so you may sell them if you please,
or send them as a valuable gift to the British Museum, only don't bother
me about them; and do take yourself off like a good soul, for I must
reply to my father's letter immediately."
Mrs Pry retired, and Tom Brown sat down to write a letter to "J.B." in
which he briefly thanked him for the letter of credit, and assured him
that one of the dearest wishes of his heart was about to be realised, for
that still--not less but rather more than when he was a runaway boy--his
soul was set upon hunting the lions.
CHAPTER TWO.
SPORT BEGINS IN EARNEST.
Time, which is ever on the wing, working mighty changes in the affairs
of man, soon transported our hero from Mrs Pry's dingy little back
parlour in London to the luxuriant wilds of Africa.
There, on the evening of a splendid day, he sat down to rest under the
grateful shade of an umbrageous tree, in company with Major Garret
and Lieutenant Wilkins, both of whom had turned out to be men after
Tom Brown's own heart. They were both bronzed strapping warriors,
and had entered those regions not only with a view to hunting lions, but
also for the purpose of making collections of the plants and insects of
the country, the major being a persevering entomologist, while the
lieutenant was enthusiastically botanical. To the delight of these
gentlemen they found that Tom, although not deeply learned on these
subjects, was nevertheless extremely intelligent and appreciative.
The major was very tall, thin; strong, wiry, and black-bearded. The
lieutenant was very short, thickset, deep-chested, and powerful. Tom
himself was burly, ruddy, broad, and rather above middle size.
"Now this is what I call real felicity," observed the major, pulling out a

pipe which he proceeded to fill. Tom Brown followed his example, and
Bob Wilkins, who was not a smoker, and had a somewhat facetious
disposition, amused himself by quizzing his