"Call out to him, Bindle. He'll be killed, and it'll be your fault," she cried hysterically, pale and trembling with anxiety.
"Look out, 'Earty!" yelled Bindle. "There's a bloomin' bull," and he pointed in the direction of the hedge; but the bull had disappeared.
Mr. Hearty looked towards the point indicated; but, seeing nothing, continued his dignified way, convinced that Bindle was once more indulging in what Mr. Hearty had been known to describe as "his untimely jests."
He was within some fifty yards of the gate where the Bindles awaited him, when there was a terrific crash followed by a mighty roar—the bull was through. It had retreated apparently in order to charge the hedge and break through by virtue of its mighty bulk.
Bindle yelled, Mrs. Bindle screamed, and Mr. Hearty gave one wild look over his shoulder and, with terror in his eyes and his semi-clerical hat streaming behind, attached only by a hat-guard, he ran as he had never run before.
Bindle clambered down from the gate so as to leave the way clear, and Mrs. Bindle thrust her umbrella into Bindle's hands. She had always been told that no bull would charge an open umbrella.
"Come on, 'Earty!" yelled Bindle. "Run like 'ell!" In his excitement he squatted down on his haunches, for all the world like a man encouraging a whippet.
Mr. Hearty ran, and the bull, head down and with a snorting noise that struck terror to the heart of the fugitive, ran also.
"Run, Mr. Hearty, run!" screamed Mrs. Bindle again.
The bull was running diagonally in the direction of Mr. Hearty's fleeing figure. In this it was at a disadvantage.