“It is of no use to kick him, poor fellow, and, besides, he’s tired. He’s a good fellow, Jack.”
“Yes, I suppose he is,” said Jack Penny; “but he’s awfully black.”
“Well, he can’t help that.”
“And he shines so!” continued Jack in tones of disgust. “I never saw a black fellow with such a shiny skin. I say, though, didn’t you feel in a stew, Joe Carstairs, when you thought it was a black fellow lugging you off?”
“I did,” I said; “and when afterwards—hist! is that anything?”
We gazed through the bushes at the darkness outside, and listened intently, but there was no sound save Jimmy’s heavy breathing, and I went on:
“When afterwards I found it was the black I turned queer and giddy. Perhaps it was the effect of the blow I got, but I certainly felt as if I should faint. I didn’t know I was so girlish.”
Jack Penny did not speak for a few minutes, and I sat thinking bitterly of my weakness as I stroked Gyp’s head, the faithful beast having curled up between us and laid his head upon my lap. I seemed to have been so cowardly, and, weary and dejected as I was, I wished that I had grown to be a man, with a man’s strength and indifference to danger.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Jack Penny suddenly.
“Don’t know what?” I said sharply, as he startled me out of my thinking fit.