“Here is a note for a thousand pounds.”
“And here is another,” said Mancune.
“Nothing could be more handsome, gentlemen,” said the salesman. “It’s a treat to see such a spirited competition. The last bid was fifty pounds a head from Mancune. The word lies with you, Mr. Strellenhaus.”
Mr. Jack Flynn whispered something to the salesman. “Quite so! Mr. Flynn suggests, gentlemen, that as you are both large buyers, it would, perhaps, be a convenience to you if he was to add the string of Mr. Tom Flynn, which consists of seventy animals of precisely the same quality, making one hundred and forty in all. Have you any objection, Mr. Mancune?”
“No, sir.”
“And you, Mr. Strellenhaus?”
“I should prefer it.”
“Very handsome! Very handsome indeed!” murmured the salesman. “Then I understand, Mr. Mancune, that your offer of fifty pounds a head extends to the whole of these horses?”
“Yes, sir.”
A long breath went up from the crowd. Seven thousand pounds at one deal. It was a record for Dunsloe.