He slackened his pace to say this. The man slackened his pace, but did not drop the horse's tail. He grinned upon Tom, showing his even white teeth.
Tom waxed wroth. "Come now, let go," and he gave his horse a cut which started him into a gallop. The guide kept up, tugging away at the horse's tail.
"Come now, be off," cried Tom. "You keep my horse back. I say, Mr. Jollytarre, do put this into Portuguese for me. Tell this beggar I'll give him a cut if he don't let go."
"Cut away," said Mr. Jollytarre. "It won't make any difference. He understands you, but he wouldn't let go if you were to shout to him from now until doomsday. I know all about it. I've been here before."
"What does he hold it for?"
"Tom, I have often wondered. I suppose he knows. I don't. Wants to keep his horse in sight, perhaps; wants a run; likes our society. You see my fellow is doing the same thing. However, we are not going any slower in consequence. The horses are used to it. They don't mind in the least."
At this point the guides stopped both horses. They were in front of a little wine-shop half way up the hill.
The guides pulled off their caps, and urged the lieutenant to treat. This was another custom of the country, to which the lieutenant also submitted gracefully.
The waiters poured out a glassful all around.