40 TALES OF PINK AND SILK. 



Two young farmers, cigars in mouth, came strolling up. 

 " Got anything that will make a blood-trapper, Neddy ? None 

 of your confounded hackneys for me. I want something that 

 can do ten miles an hour, and keep going all day if you want 

 him to." 



" There's that black colt there, Mr. Waller ; he ought to 

 have been sold for a hunter, and he might win a race at a 

 local meeting some day if given a chance, but he will make a 

 sweet trapper. See him move. Just suit you, Mr. Waller. 

 Mike, give the gentleman a show ! " 



Once more was the black colt hauled out and trotted up 

 the street, while his owner followed in the rear, rattling his 

 whip-stock in the crown of his hat with much vigour. 



" Uses his shoulders well, Fred, and his hocks too, and he 

 certainly has no extravagant knee action ; he'd kick a pebble 

 in front of him for a mile. Bit too big, I am afraid, Neddy." 



" Not he, yer honour. He's not 15.3. It's these little 

 beggars what's left that makes him look big." 



"How's he bred?" 



"By old Victor (who was by Uncas), out of a mare b}' 

 Cardinal York." 



" Sure, Neddy ? " 



" Now, would I deceive you, yer honour ? " 



" Not so sure. Well, what are you asking ? " 



" Forty-five pounds, yer honour." 



" Let me feel his legs. Is he quiet ? " 



" Quiet as a new-born lamb, yer honour." 



" Give you twenty-live pounds." 



-' Och ! couldn't possibly take it ! " 



" Twenty-five golden sovereigns, Neddy." 



" Impossible, yer honour. Here, I'll take forty." 



" Twenty-five little yellow boys, Neddy, and not one more." 



'' I really couldn't, sir. It's impossible." 



" Twenty-five pounds, Neddy. Are you doing business ? " 



