Green. Twenty pounds, Mr. Hauctioneer.

Cope. Beg pardon, Sir, but you can’t have a better horse, and he’s cheap at fifty.

Green. I am wery much obliged to you for your adwice—but I happens to know what an ’orse is—I’m not a hass! I’ll have him, but I shan’t go further nor forty.

Gul. Five and twenty pounds.

Green. Thirty.

Tat. Thirty pounds; any advance upon thirty pounds?

Green. Yes, five more.

Tat. Thankye, Sir; thirty-five.

Gul. Thirty-six, my regular.

Green. Thirty-seven, my regular.