“Well, hasn't some good livery man in your neighborhood a stable?”
“Ye—yes.” Jewel made greater efforts to stop crying. “But I—I talked with mo—mother once about cou—could I ha—have a horse sometime before I grew up, and she said she might buy the horse, but it would cost so much—much money every week to board it, it would be error.”
Mr. Evringham patted the heaving shoulder.
“Ah, but you don't know yet all about your horse. In some respects I've never seen a pony like him.”
“I—I never have,” returned the child.
“Oh, but you'll be surprised at this. This pony has a bank account.”
Jewel slowly grew quiet.
“Nobody has to pay for his board and clothes. He is very independent. He would have it that way.”
“Grandpa!” came in muffled tones from the broker's vest.
“So don't you think you'd better cheer up and look at him once more, and tell him you won't cry on his shoulder very often?”