Tinker shrugged his shoulders, spread out his hands, gestures he had acquired in France, and hurried off on his main errand.
He came swiftly to a small field in which there browsed a large and solitary ram, by name Billy, Tinker's playfellow in the game of bull-fighting.

With a somewhat unfair casting of the star part, Tinker always played the matador, Billy played the bull.
Drawing a stout wooden sword, the handiwork of Sir Tancred, who never dreamed of the purpose it served, from its hiding-place in the hedge, Tinker slipped over the gate.

Billy greeted his playfellow with an ill-conditioned grunt expressive of no joy at all.

Tinker saluted, walked up to within ten yards, and waved his hat at him.

Billy watched him with a wicked eye, affected to graze, and of a sudden charged with all his speed.