They neither of them winced, Lawrence’s cream colour going so far as to reach out and try to take hold of it with his lips, evidently under the impression that it was some delicate kind of Turkish dried hay.
“There,” said Mr Burne triumphantly; “you see! They are not frightened at the handkerchief.”
“Walk behind,” said the professor, “and blow your nose—blow gently.”
The old gentleman hesitated for a moment, and then blew as was suggested, not so loudly as before, but a fairly sonorous blow.
The horses all made a plunge, and had to be held in and patted before they could be calmed down again.
“What ridiculous brutes!” exclaimed Mr Burne contemptuously. “How absurd!”
“You are satisfied, then?” said the professor.
“I cannot help being,” replied Mr Burne. “Bless my heart! It is ridiculous.”
“I am growing anxious, your excellencies,” said Yussuf interrupting. “The time is getting on, and I want to overtake the baggage-horses. Will you please to mount, sir?”
“Bless me, Yussuf,” cried Mr Burne testily; “anyone would think that this was your excursion and not ours.”