Finally his attitude
attracted the notice of the perspiring Mr. O'Toole.
"Yerra, come down out o' that an' len' a hand!" he shouted, panting.
"It is laughin' ye'd be, wid these loonattic images gittin' away on
us--!" Further eloquence on Murty's part was checked by a determined
rush on the part of a red and white calf, which would certainly have
ended in freedom but for a well-aimed clod, which, hurled by the
Irishman, took the poddy squarely between the eyes and induced him to
pull up and meditate. Unfortunately Murty tripped in the act of
delivery, and went headlong, picking himself up just in time to stop a
second rush by the calf, which, on seeing his enemy on the ground,
promptly ceased to meditate. Cecil rocked with laughter.
"Oh, get off that fence and try and block these brutes, Cecil!" sang
out Jim, angrily. "Another hand would make all the difference, if you'd
exert yourself!"
Cecil's laughter came to a sudden stop. He looked indignantly at his
grey suit, and with pain at his patent leather shoes; then, apparently
coming to the conclusion that there was no help for it, descended
gingerly, and came into the line of defenders. A sturdy little
Shorthorn singled him out for attention, and charged in his direction.
"Block him! Block him, I say!"
Jim's voice rang out.
Pages:
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203