"All my horses are for sale, sir," he replies with a smile; adding, after a pause, "at a price."
Thereupon Briggs tries to look as if he was not the least interested in the matter, and accordingly shows most plainly how anxious he is to buy. "Oh, ah, yes," says he, "he seems likely to make a hunter. How much do you ask?"
"Well, sir, seeing that you are an old customer, I will let you have him at a hundred and twenty; but take my advice, Mr. Briggs, and when you are buying don't show as you're so sweet on the animal; it's as good as putting another five-and-twenty guineas on the price. However, you shall try him the day after to-morrow, and if you like the horse, which I am sure you will, you can have him at the price I said."
Needless to say Mr. Briggs does like him, and a piece of paper signed with his name transfers one hundred and twenty guineas to the account of James Holden at the local bank, though it must be confessed that the little bay does not perform quite so brilliantly under his new master's guidance as he did on the occasion when the exhibition at the rails so delighted his heart.
It was not to be supposed that Jimmy Holden would be left for ever in undisputed possession of such a lucrative position as dealer-in-ordinary to the Bullshire Hunt, and at one time there was quite an influx of veterinary surgeons, job-masters, and copers of all sorts; but they all dropped off and disappeared with the exception of one individual, who was a constant thorn in Jimmy's side, and whom he hated with a hate surpassing that of women (the inverse applies equally to the fair sex, love and hatred both being qualities they excel in).
He was named Seaford—Captain Seaford he called himself, though the Army List was innocent and silent as to his name or his regiment.
"A nasty, snivelling, horse-coping snob," was Jimmy's verdict; "brings discredit on the profession, and makes people think as we're all rogues."
There was a deal of truth in this, for Seaford was as big a scamp as ever doctored a broken-winded nag or bishoped an old stager. Now and then he had a good horse, but it was the exception; and when such an accident did happen it was a wonder that he ever managed to shut his mouth again, so wide did he open it.
Farmer Simms used to say on those occasions: "Ay could see right through un' like a telescope."
A most plausible scoundrel is he notwithstanding, and if he manages to get hold of some new-comer he will stick to him like a leech till he has screwed something out of him. Of course he hunts, and equally of course he arrives rather late, not being over fond of letting his wares get cool—and stiff—at the meet.