"Been buying a new hoss?" said the major.
"Yes; I thought I'd try one, though I ain't a horse jockey," answered the agent, making an excuse to examine the buckles of his harness.
"Don't want to sell him, do you?" said the major.
"Why, no, major, I reckon not. I expect he'll suit me fust rate. I'm doin' pooty well, now, and can afford to hev' somethin' nice. I calklate to keep him."
"I don't like his color," said the major.
"Well, I do," said Zebulon, getting into his wagon. "Good mornin', major."
"Hold on," said the major. "I've got a hoss I want to show you. Jake, bring out the bay, and let Mr. Smith have a squint at him."
The hostler brought out a square-built, chunky, bay horse, in fine condition, and looking like a capital roadster.
"What do you think of that hoss, Mr. Smith?" asked the major, triumphantly.
"Pretty fair hoss," said the agent. "But I tell you I'm no judge of horses; I ain't a horse jockey."