The beast was appropriately named "Thunder and Lightning," and
was the property of a gentleman-farmer named Garthwaite, a
distant connection of my wife's family.
How it was that I escaped being gored to death before I had
finished my picture is more than I can explain to this day.
"Thunder and Lightning" resented the very sight of me and my
color-box, as if he viewed the taking of his likeness in the
light of a personal insult. It required two men to coax him,
while a third held him by a ring in his nostrils, before I could
venture on beginning to work. Even then he always lashed his
tail, and jerked his huge head, and rolled his fiery eyes with a
devouring anxiety to have me on his horns for daring to sit down
quietly and look at him. Never, I can honestly say, did I feel
more heartily grateful for the blessings of soundness of limb and
wholeness of skin, than when I had completed the picture of the
bull!
One morning, when I had but little more than half done my
unwelcome task, my friend and I were met on our way to the bull's
stable by the farm bailiff, who informed us gravely that "Thunder
and Lightning" was just then in such an especially surly state of
temper as to render it quite unsafe for me to think of painting
him. I looked inquiringly at Mr. Garthwaite, who smiled with an
air of comic resignation, and said, "Very well, then, we have
nothing for it but to wait till to-morrow.
Pages:
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273