“Here, but I want to try,” said Dean.
“Well, you are not going to try now,” said his uncle, half irritably. “You will have plenty of chances, both of you, when you have got a field to yourselves. You will be scaring the bullocks.”
“All right, sir,” said the big fellow, replacing the whip by the great tilted waggon. “I’ll teach you how to handle it when we get out on the veldt. Like me to show you, perhaps, now?”
“No, no,” said Sir James; “not while we are here.”
“It’s quite safe, sir,” said the man good-humouredly. “I could give a flip to any one of the bullocks you like to point out without the thong coming near anybody.”
“Oh, let him, please, father.”
“Very well,” said Sir James, rather grumpily. “Shall we stand farther off?”
“Oh, no, sir,” replied the man.
“Let’s pick out that one with the white nose,” whispered Dean. “I don’t believe he can hit it;” and he pointed to one fat beast that was standing almost alone blinking its eyes and ruminating over its cud.
“Yes; hit that one,” said Mark.