The gipsy frowned and gave his whip a crack.
“Only want cleaning up, master,” he said.
“Going to the fair?”
The man nodded and went on, for all this was said without the two lads stopping; and directly after, driving a miserable halting pony which could hardly get over the ground, a couple of big hulking lads of sixteen or seventeen appeared some fifty yards away.
“Oh, I say, Vane,” cried Macey; “there’s that chap you licked last year. You’ll see how he’ll smile at you.”
“I should like to do it again,” said Vane. “Look at them banging that poor pony about. What a shame it seems!”
“Yes. You ought to invent a machine for doing away with such chaps as these. They’re no good,” said Macey.
“Oh, you brute!—I say, don’t the poor beggar’s sides sound hollow!”
“Hollow! Yes,” cried Vane indignantly; “they never feed them, and that poor thing can’t find time to graze.”
“No. It will be a blessing for it when it’s turned into leather and glue.”