“Thanks. Sorry I can’t take you, my lad, but your father is right.”
Those next five days passed almost like magic. Six highly-bred mules were selected by Captain Norton’s help, and furnished with packages and hide ropes, besides more for riding purposes.
“But we shan’t be able to manage so many, sir,” said John Manning, a lithe, dry-looking man of about forty, who had been the colonel’s servant when he was in the army, and had stayed with him ever since, to Perry’s great disgust; for the lad declared that he was the most disagreeable fellow under the sun, since he was always grumbling.
It was quite true, for he found fault with everything to the two boys; though silent, as if he were still in the ranks, in the presence of the colonel. But he quite won Cyril’s heart in one of his grumbles, and always after, during their preparations, the boy declared that he was capital fun, and that he liked him.
“There, young gentlemen,” said John, “that’s as much toggery as I can get in the colonel’s soft portmanter, and you’ll have to make shift, Master Perry, if you want any more flannels and things.”
“Oh, there’ll be enough, John,” said Perry. “A fellow don’t want collars and cuffs up in the mountains.”
“But there ain’t enough, sir. The man must ha’ been a hijot as made that portmanter. If it had been six inches longer, it would have held ever so much more.”
“Why, of course it would,” said Cyril contemptuously.
“It ain’t my business,” continued the man; “I’m only a servant. But what ought to ha’ been done was to have had Mr Cyril here with us, and filled a portmanter up with his things. Then they’d ha’ balanced quite easy on the mule’s back.”
“Yes, that’s what ought to have been done,” said Cyril excitedly.