"Thirty!" said Barnabas.
"Thirty-one, sir."
"Fifty!" said Barnabas.
"Fifty!" cried the Captain, flourishing his whip. "Fifty pounds from
the gentleman in the neckcloth--fifty's the figure. Any more? Any
advance on fifty? What, all done! Won't any one go another pound for
a beast fit only for the knacker's yard? Oh, Gad, gentlemen, why
this reticence? Are you all done?"
"I can't go no higher, sir," said the shabby man, shaking his gray
head sadly.
"Then going at fifty--at fifty! Going! Going! Gone, b'gad! Sold to
the knowing young cove in the neckcloth."
Now, at the repetition of this word, Barnabas began to frown.
"And b'gad!" exclaimed the Captain, stepping down from the bucket,
"a devilish bad bargain he's got, too."
"That, sir, remains to be seen," said Barnabas, shortly.
"Why, what do you mean to do with the brute?"
"Ride him."
"Do you, b'gad?"
"I do."
"Lay you ten guineas you don't sit him ten minutes."
"Done!" said Barnabas, buttoning up his coat.
But now, glancing round, he saw that the shabby man had turned away,
and was trudging heavily out of the yard, therefore Barnabas
hastened after him, and touched him upon the arm.
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