"Don't come close!" said the earl, who was almost out of breath.

"Keep a little apart.

Ugh! ugh! whoop, whoop!" And he threw up his arms manfully, jobbing about with his spud, ever and anon rubbing the perspiration from off his eyebrows with the back of his hand.
As the bull stood pausing, meditating whether under such circumstances flight would not be preferable to gratified passion, Eames made a rush in at him, attempting to hit him on the head.

The earl, seeing this, advanced a step also, and got his spud almost up to the animal's eye.

But these indignities the beast could not stand.
He made a charge, bending his head first towards John Eames, and then, with that weak vacillation which is as disgraceful in a bull as in a general, he changed his purpose, and turned his horns upon his other enemy.