“Of course!” they cried, in a breath.
Chapter Six.
How to handle a Whip.
Sir James turned back with the doctor, and soon after the boys were intently examining the drove of nearly fifty beautiful, sleek, well-bred oxen in their kraal, where they were in charge of their drivers, one a big, bluff, manly-looking fellow, well bronzed by the sun, and with Englishman stamped upon every feature, forming a striking contrast to his companion, a flat-nosed, half-bred Hottentot, who grinned at them stupidly.
“We just want another look round, my lad,” said the doctor.
“All right, sir,” said the big driver, endorsing his appearance by his speech; and taking the lead, he showed the little party and expatiated upon the qualities of the leading and pole oxen, upon how sleek and well they looked, and gave to each its name, while the Hottentot driver, who confined himself to Dutch, helped to call up bullock after bullock, all of which answered sluggishly to their names.
Then the boys were made acquainted with the novelties, to them, of dissel-boom, trek-tow, and yokes.
“But I say,” cried Mark, “you don’t call that a whip, do you?” And he pointed to one that might have been used in Brobdingnag.