92 THE LIFE OF A RACEHORSE. 



air; and the bright crimson tint of health upon his cheek might, 

 for any appearance to the contrary, have never mantled in it. 

 With quick and anxious eyes he seemed to be watching the 

 effect of his apparently persuasive address to Tom Shybird, 

 who, for a time, telegraphed a dissent to the proposition, v,^hat- 

 ever it might be, by gently shaking his head. 



" You shall stand in," I heard Harry say, almost inaudible 

 as was the tone, " pound for pound." 



" Can't depend upon your pai'ty," replied my trainer, with a 

 look which conveyed the lurking fear of mistrust in his mind. 



" Name yer figger, then," rejoined the young, aspiring mem- 

 ber of the ring. 



Tom Shybird shook his head for the fiftieth time. 



"Will yer make him safe for five hundred?" inquired Harry. 



A slight vibratory motion of the head signified that there 

 must be an advance in the price. 



" You're doocecl 'ard," exclaimed my late attendant, in the 

 manner of one who was meeting with a thankless requital for 

 proftcred generosity; " c^oocec*? 'ard." 



"If he was not a dangerous one," returned Tom Shybird, 

 seeing that the immediate rear was in accordance with his 

 sensitive desire for safety — "if he was not a dangerous one,'* 

 repeated he, pointing in the direction of where I stood, "and 

 your party didn't stand against him more than they feel 

 comfortable about, I might be buried at the parish ex2Dense 

 before '' 



"We'd go to the expense of sending ye to earth in a 

 black carawan and four 'osses," added Harry, laughing. "In 

 course we would," continued he, separating his legs; and his 

 attire bearing a close resemblance to Robert Top's holiday gear, 

 lie looked the very prototype of the old stud groom, with Time's 

 hour-glass turned upside down. 



" It must be made worth my while to nobble him,''^ observed 

 my trainer, impressively, again addressing Harry's attention to 

 the spot where I remained, as I had done before listening to 

 the bargain and sale of a race to be lost. 



" Name yer figger," again said Harry Dale, as if in posses- 



