Chapter Nineteen.
“Good taste for a savage.”
Rifle felt obliged in the morning to join cousin and brother in the announcement to the captain, who looked as if he could hardly believe it at first, but ended by walking straight to the paddock, to find the colt looking more distressed than ever; and on a closer inspection there plainly enough, though it had remained unnoticed before, on account of the dry time, were the marks of the nightly gallops on the hard sun-baked soil.
“That explains it all, eh, Jack?” he said to his brother.
“Yes; the black scoundrel! I had noticed for some time past how fond he was of horses.”
“Yes,” said Norman; “nothing pleased him better than petting them and giving them bits of his damper.”
“Very good taste for a savage to appreciate how noble a beast is the horse, but I’m not going to introduce the said noble animal for the delectation of black savages.”
“But you will not be very hard upon him, father?”
“No,” said the captain, tightening his lips, “not very.”
“What shall you do?” said Uncle Jack.