Confronting the Equine Ox was the conductor, who was waving his hands and shouting, while the motorman was stooping over, a little way off, gathering up a smooth round stone about the size of an egg.
Meanwhile the tinkle of the bell sounded continuously, and the Equine Ox wriggled and writhed as if very much displeased with his imprisonment.
The motorman being nearest to him, Billy addressed him:
“What are you going to do with that stone?” he inquired.
“Throw it at the Ox,” replied the motorman.
“Oh, don’t do that,” pleaded Billy. “You might hurt him. And he isn’t doing anything bad, I’m sure.”
“He isn’t, isn’t he?” shouted the motorman. “Ain’t he lashing his tail?”
“What of that?” asked Billy. “All animals lash their tails except bears and saddle horses and fox-hunters, which haven’t any tails to lash.”
“Confronting the Equine Ox was the conductor, waving his hand and shouting”