“Yes, I saw the brute grin,” said Ned.
“Well, just you wait. I’m going to save up this fellow’s dose, and he shall have it some day with interest.”
“He told me,” said Ned, “that you couldn’t drive mules without using bad language. He did—lots.”
“Yes, I heard him,” said Chris.
“I told my father, and he was angry and said it was all nonsense. All you had to do was to shout at the brutes loudly, and as if you were in a rage. Then he laughed, and told me what to do.”
“What was that?” said Chris, rather breathlessly, for he was busy arranging the mule’s load.
“He said I was to stamp and yell, and begin to decline a Latin noun to the mules.”
“Oh, bother the Latin nouns!” said Chris pettishly. “Who’s to think of cases when you’re driving a mule? Here, come on and help. And I say, I nearly forgot.”
“Forgot what? I dare say we’ve forgotten lots of things.”
“But we mustn’t forget this. We’re loading the leading mule, and it’s the one that wears that bell round its neck. Where is it?”