Always conspicuous among the elephant-drivers was little Ali, the Prince's eighty-ear-old son. Vainly the Sahib protested that it was no sort of a place for a small boy. The Prince always shook his head. "He my shadow," he would exclaim laconically. "You cannot keep your shadow at home. He go where I go."
"But it is very dangerous work," persisted the Sahib. "The boy might get killed."
Again the Prince shook his head. "He not get killed. No animal touch him. He got a charm. He swim in the river and the crocodile come up and smell him and no bite him. He all right."
The small boy fairly worshipped the Sahib. He was always standing by watching the white man whenever he was allowed to. He and his father Omar could
