“Did I not hear your worship say that you wished to buy a horse?” said the gypsy.
“I do not want to buy a horse,” said I; “if I need anything it is a pony to carry our baggage. But it is getting late. Antonio, pay the reckoning.”
“Stay, your worship, do not be in a hurry,” said the gypsy; “I have got the very pony which will suit you.”
Without waiting for my answer, he hurried into the stable, from whence he presently returned, leading an animal by a halter. It was a pony of about thirteen hands high, of a dark red colour; it was very much galled all over, the marks of ropes and thongs being visible on its hide. The figure, however, was good, and there was an extraordinary brightness in its eye.
“There, your worship,” said the gypsy; “there is the best pony in all Spain.”
“What do you mean by showing me this wretched creature?” said I.
“This wretched creature,” said the gypsy, “is a better horse than your Andalou!”
“Perhaps you would not exchange,” said I, smiling.
“Señor, what I say is, that he shall run with your Andalou, and beat him.”
“He looks feeble,” said I; “his work is well-nigh done.”