"Four sovereigns for the mare—and a half for the halter, and a little bit o' beer-money."
The crowd cheered and the gypsy danced a jig.
"You're a gentleman, Mr. Woodburn," he cried. "Now I'll tell you somefin for yourself." He drew the old man aside and whispered in his ear, ending with an emphatic: "S'truth, sir!"
The trainer grunted sceptically.
"Now, Boy," he said. "There she is. Take charge o' your cripple."
The girl, her face alight with pleasure, took the halter of the lagging mare.
Old Mat gathered the reins and mounted to his seat. Monkey Brand took his place at his master's side. Boy got up behind, the halter in her hand.
The trainer raised his whip.
The buggy bumped over the grass, the old mare trailing behind with outstretched neck. The girl folded her arms and looked down her nose like a footman.
Silver, following on his pony, saw her face and chuckled suddenly.