The brewery was only a short distance,
and Tom always gave her men a hot meal at the house whenever it
was possible. Had any other horse been neglected, Cully would not
have cared; but the Big Gray which he had driven ever since the
day Tom brought him home,--"Old Blowhard," as he would often call
him (the Gray was a bit wheezy),--the Big Gray without his dinner!
"Hully gee! Look at de bloke a-jollying Jinnie, an' de Blowhard
a-starvin'. Say, Patsy,"--lifting him down,--"hold de line till I
git de Big Gray a bite. Git on ter Carl, will ye! I'm
a-goin'--ter--tell--de--boss,"--with a threatening air, weighing
each word--"jes soon as she gits back. Ef I don't I'm a chump."
At sight of the boys, Jennie darted into the house, and Carl
started for the stable, his head in the clouds, his feet on air.
"No; I feed da horse, Cully,"--jerking at his halter to get him
away from Cully.
"A hell ov 'er lot ye will! I'll feed him meself. He's been home
an hour now, an' he ain't half rubbed down."
Carl made a grab for Cully, who dodged and ran under the cart.
Then a lump of ice whizzed past Carl's ear.
"Here, stop that!" said Tom, entering the gate. She had been in
the city all the morning--"to look after her poor Tom," Pop said.
"Don't ye be throwing things round here, or I'll land on top of
ye.
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