“Quite, thank you. Hear you’re wonderful. Horses. Like to see, if suits.”
“Well, sir, I’d like to ’blige; but, you see, it’s against the rules. Once a week, an’ no oftener, is what we agreed. No use o’ rules if you don’t stick to ’em. Exercise every Sunday; no other times in public. If I ’lowed the ‘boys’ to go it rash, say on odd days, they’d get the upper hand in no time; then where’d I be?”
From the tone of his voice, Mr. Calthorp judged that Bob “wanted coaxing;” but this was not his affair. From the moment of Lord Plunkett’s arrival he had practically resigned all authority, so he did not interfere.
Now, my lord was, as has been said, very good-natured; but, like many other good-natured and unassuming people, opposition, or imposition, made him a little testy. Moreover, he was accustomed to command, not to sue; and he considered that he had already conceded as much as was necessary to this rough specimen of American manhood. His choler and color rose together; and he opened his lips with a very decided and undignified snort: “Woo-oo! Eh? Hey?”
But, fortunately for all parties, Steenie’s bright eyes had telegraphed alarm to her loving heart; and with a quick little “’Xcuse me!” she pulled Bob’s surly face to the level of her lips, and whispered something in his ear.
Then, as if there had been a spring in his back, his head rebounded to the upright, his cheek actually paled beneath its tan, and he ejaculated fiercely, “Great—Huckleberries!”
It was the nearest approach to an oath which this strange man ever allowed himself; for, though he thought nothing of breaking the Sabbath by racing or gaming, he neither gave way to profanity nor indulged himself with a drop of spirituous liquor. He used to describe himself as “half marm, half pop;” and to attribute his sobriety and general uprightness to the “marm” side, all to the contrary, “pop.” Years before, when, a hot-tempered lad, he had run away from “pop’s” wrath, he had solemnly promised his weeping “marm” that he would “never drink nor swear;” and, to the honor of Kentucky Bob, be it said that he had loyally kept his word.
“Huckleberries! Little Un, you don’t mean it! You wouldn’t, would you?”
“I—I’ve got to, dear old Bob! But—there—there—there—I won’t cry! I will not. And you’ll do it, won’t you?”
“Well—I reckon! But—little missy—the boys won’t believe it. An’—Say, Boss, is it true? Are you a goin’ to light out?”