“Deuce take the cows,” said I; “push on.”
“Three calves belonging to ditto.”
“Fire away.”
“Three Cape sheep, of the Doombah breed.”
“Doombah breed! that sounds well; egad, I think I must have a bid for the sheep—what comes next?”
“A noble French mastiff, two bull-dogs, two wire-haired Scotch terriers, and a greyhound bitch with pup, just imported by the Founderwell.”
“That’s the ticket,” I exclaimed, with eagerness; “I’ll have some of the dogs, if they go reasonably—that’s a settled point—for there’s rare hunting to be had, I hear, on the way up.”
Grundy ran down several columns more of live and dead stock; and there were many things, without which I found I could not comfortably exist for twenty-four hours longer, though, I must confess, I had not thought of them before.
“By-the-bye,” drawled Grundy, “talking of dogs, there was a black fellow at my door just now with one for sale.”
“Was there?” I eagerly asked; “what sort of an animal, and what did the fellow want for it?”