The poor fellow’s voice sounded very husky during the last few words, and he hurried away, watched by the boys.
“I say, Dean, he’s better,” said Mark. “He could not walk like that a fortnight ago. Do you know, I begin to like that chap. He’s rather comic looking, but he is such a regular sailor.”
“Yes,” said Dean, “with quite a sailor’s frank boyish sort of way.”
“Like you, eh?” said Mark.
“Get out! Don’t chaff. Present company always excepted. I wasn’t thinking about you. But I say, didn’t he take it all in as innocent as could be about uncle setting him adrift out in the wilds?”
“Yes.—Well, father, how many bullocks have you bought?”
“Forty-eight, my boy. Fine ones.”
“Forty-eight!” cried the boys, in a breath. “Twenty-four in a span.”
“Precious long span, uncle,” said Dean, laughing, as he stretched from thumb tip to little finger measuring along his arm.
“Yes, rather,” said the doctor. “They are long spans; but we are obliged to provide against loss. Like to come and see them, boys?”