“Yes, sir; that’s the whip,” said the Englishman, laughing. “You see, one wants a long one to touch up an ox who may be the leader twelve bullocks’ lengths away from where you are sitting on the box.”
“Let’s try,” said Mark.
The man smiled as he took down and handed the gigantic thong.
“Mind what you are doing, sir,” he said. “A waggon whip is rather an awkward thing, until you are used to it; but when you are you know it is a nice, neat, handy little tool. You see, it’s a two-handed weapon.”
“That’s plain enough,” said Dean, laughing. “Let’s have a try after you, Mark.”
“Yes,” said his cousin, giving the whip a wave round, its heavy lash whistling through the air.
“Here, stop!” cried Sir James angrily. “What do you think you are doing? Salmon fishing? It’s a good thing, doctor, that there’s no hook at the end.”
“Oh, I’m very sorry, father,” said the boy, colouring.
“Very sorry, indeed! Why, you nearly cut my ear off. Here, doctor, we had better go.”
“No, no, don’t go, father. I won’t try any more;” and Mark hastily handed the great whip back to the driver.