“It is that monkey again,” said Towsie, to himself. “If I can only pin one horn through him, I’ll carry him all round and round the field, at the gallop too.”
Miss Campbell, from the tree, first heard a dreadful bellowing roar, which ended in one continuous stream of hoarse explosions, as it were.
“Wow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow,” and next moment, to her horror, she saw a gigantic horrid homed bull coming tearing towards the gate, his nose on the ground, and his tail like a corkscrew over his back.
“Harry, Harry!” she screamed. “Oh! fly, Harry, fly!”
“He can’t get over, Guvie,” cried Harry, coolly. “Let me introduce you, as papa says. That is Towsie Jock. Towsie! Towsie! Towsie Jock! Towsie Jock!”
“Wow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!”
On came the bull as mad as ever bull was.
Miss Campbell shouted again, and screamed with terror.
“Harry, come, oh, dear Harry, come up. For my sake then.”
“But he can’t get over, I tell you, Guvie.”