"Don't talk to me about lambs," cried Mrs. Bindle, now thoroughly roused. "With my own eyes I saw it chasing Mr. Hearty across the field. It's a wonder he wasn't killed. I shall insist upon the animal being destroyed."
The farmer turned to Bindle, as if for an explanation of such strange views upon bulls in general and Oscar in particular.
"Oscar's all right, Lizzie," said Bindle pacifically. "'E only wanted to play tag with 'Earty."
"You be quiet!" cried Mrs. Bindle. She felt that she already had the enemy well beaten and in terror of prosecution.
"I suppose," she continued, turning once more to Mr. Timkins, "you want to hide the fact that you're keeping a mad bull until you can turn it into beef and send it to market; but——"
"Turn Oscar into beef!" roared the farmer. "Why, God dang my boots, ma'am, you're crazy! I wouldn't sell Oscar for a thousand pounds."
"I thought so," said Mrs. Bindle, looking across at Mr. Hearty, who was feeling intensely uncomfortable, "and people are to be chased about the country and murdered just because you won't——"
"But dang it, ma'am! there isn't a bull like Oscar for twenty miles round. Last year I had—let me see, how many calves——"
"Don't be disgusting," she cried, whilst Mr. Hearty turned his head aside, and coughed modestly into his right hand.
Mr. Timkins gazed from one to the other in sheer amazement, whilst Bindle, who had so man[oe]uvred as to place himself behind Mrs. Bindle, caught the farmer's eye and tapped his forehead significantly.