Black Billy, meanwhile, had paid strict attention to business. The vagaries of wallabies and kangaroo, of cat and parrot and cockatoo, had no attraction for the dusky leader of the big black Orpington rooster.
The Orpington—Jonah, Norah called him—was not inclined to race. He had tugged furiously at his leg rope, with much outcry and indignation, until Billy, finding himself alone, owing to the eccentric behaviour of the other starters, had resorted to different tactics by no means devoid of native cunning. Slackening the line, he suddenly produced from his pocket a few grains of wheat, and spread them temptingly before Jonah.
Now Jonah was a tame bird. He was accustomed to being handled, and had only been indignant at the disgrace of bonds. This new departure was something he understood; so he gobbled up the wheat with alacrity and looked up inquiringly for more.
“Right oh!” said Bffly, retiring a few steps down the track and bringing out another grain. Jonah sprang after it, and then was dazzled with the view of two lying yet a few yards farther off. So, feeding and coaxing, black Billy worked his unsuspecting steed across the little paddock.
No one was near when he reached the winning post, to which he promptly tied Jonah, and, his purpose being accomplished, and no need of further bribery being necessary, sat down beside him and meditatively began to chew the remainder of his wheat. Jonah looked indignant, and poked round after more grains, an attention which Billy met with jeers and continued heartless mastication, until the Orpington gave up the quest in disgust, and retired to the limit of his tether. Billy sat quietly, with steadfast glittering eyes twinkling in his dusky face.
“Hallo!” It was Jim’s voice. “Where are all the rest? D’you mean to say you’re the only one to get here?”
Billy grinned silently.
Sounds of mirth floated over the grass, and Norah, Harry and Wally raced up.
“Where are your mokes?” queried Jim.
“The good knights are dust,
Their mokes are rust,”