"It oughtn't to be allowed."
"Wot?"
"Dangerous animals like that," was the retort.
"Well, personally myself, I likes a cut o' veal," Bindle remarked, watching Mrs. Bindle covertly; but her thoughts were intent on Mr. Hearty, and the allusion passed unnoticed.
"It 'ud be a bad thing for ole 'Earty, if that bull was to get 'im by the back o' the trousers," mused Bindle. "'Ullo, there 'e is." He indicated with the stem of his pipe a point in the hedge on the right of the field, over which was thrust a great dun-coloured head.
Again the terrifying roar split the air. Instinctively Mrs. Bindle recoiled, and gripped the parrot-headed umbrella she was carrying.
"It's trying to get through. I'm not going to wait here," she announced with decision. "It may——"
"Don't you worry, Mrs. B.," he reassured her. "'E ain't one o' the jumpin' sort. Besides, there's an 'edge between 'im an' us, not to speak o' this 'ere gate."
Mrs. Bindle retired a yard or two, her eyes still on the dun-coloured head.
So absorbed were she and Bindle in watching the bull, that neither of them saw Mr. Hearty climbing the opposite stile.