“Shall I tell him so, for here he comes?” said Dick, mischievously. “Now, or when you’re not there?”
“If you do I’ll never speak to you again. And yet I don’t know that I’d greatly care if you did.”
They had been waiting as directed, where the horses had been left, and now the other two were coming up.
“You’ve made a quick job of that, Greenoak,” said Dick.
“Yes. But I only took charge of the more difficult part, Kleinbooi’ll do the rest. It’s a good skin, Dick, and ought to look well in your hall, or wherever you stick up such things.”
Dick stared.
“But it’s yours,” he cried. “Why, it was your shot—and a jolly fine shot too. Don’t know where I’d have been but for it.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’ve nowhere to keep trophies and you have. You’ll be able to hang it under the buffalo head.” And the speaker swung himself into the saddle, and resumed his conversation with old Hesketh.
“There!” exclaimed Hazel. “Isn’t that like him? And you hardly said thank you.”
“Greenoak doesn’t like much thanking. It seems to hurt him; sets him on the shrink, don’t you know.”