"Well, now," said he, "I hadn't thought of selling him, Curry, and that's a fact."
"Did anybody but me ever think of buyin' him?" asked the old man innocently.
"He's got a wonderful breeding," said Slim, ignoring the question. "Yes, sir; he's out of the purple, sure enough, and as for age he's just in his prime. There's a lot of racing in him yet. Make me an offer."
"You don't want me to talk first, do you? I don't reckon I could make a real offer on a hoss that never wins 'less all the others fall down. Pharaoh ain't what you might call a first-class buy. From his looks it costs a lot to keep him."
"Not near as much as you'd think," was the quick rejoinder. "Pharaoh's a dainty feeder."
"Ah, hah," said Old Man Curry, stroking his beard. "About as dainty as one of them perpetual hay presses! That nigh foreleg of his has been stove up pretty bad too. How he runs on it at all beats me."
"He's sound as a nut!" declared Slim vehemently. "There ain't a thing in the world the matter with him. Ask any vet to look him over!"
"Well, Slim, I dunno's he's worth the expense. Come on, now; tell me what's the least you'll take for him?"
"Five hundred dollars."