Jerry. Yes, quite fly, depend on’t.
Gul. I beg pardon, gemmen—want to buy a prad? here’s one a gentleman wants to sell—you can’t have a better, Sir; here, you Bob, bring him out. There’s action for you—there’s one to tip ’em the go-bye at a mill,—there’s earth-stoppers—quiet to drive, quiet in harness, trots fifteen miles in less than an hour. Warranted sound—he would be cheap at a hundred, and I shouldn’t wonder if he was to go for thirty.
Jerry. Ah, thirty-pence—two-and-six-pence,—I wouldn’t have him at a gift.
Log. He may be a good one to go—but he’s a rum one to look at—one of my Lord Cagmag’s sort, he always drives two puffers, a stumbler, and a blinker.
Gul. (To Cope). These chaps are awake; it wont suit.
Cope. Never mind, we shall meet a flat presently.
Tat. (Who has now mounted the rostrum). Now, gentlemen, we’ll proceed to business. The first article I have to offer to your notice is that prime Yorkshire stallion Bite—he was got by Blackleg out of Greenhorn—what shall I say, gentlemen, for this beautiful and most serviceable animal?—he is rising five, next grass—warranted sound—perfect in all his paces.
Tom. Nine pence.
Tat. Oh, Sir! (To Jerry). What do you say, Sir?