“So it is,” returned his friend sympathetically.
But what was the ex-coachman's delight, when, on going into the stable where his friend led him, he found the horse he wanted him to buy was no other than his own old Diamond, grown very thin and bony and long-legged, as if they, had been doing what they could to fit him for Hansom work!
“He ain't a Hansom horse,” said Diamond's father indignantly.
“Well, you're right. He ain't handsome, but he's a good un” said his owner.
“Who says he ain't handsome? He's one of the handsomest horses a gentleman's coachman ever druv,” said Diamond's father; remarking to himself under his breath—“though I says it as shouldn't”—for he did not feel inclined all at once to confess that his own old horse could have sunk so low.
“Well,” said his friend, “all I say is—There's a animal for you, as strong as a church; an'll go like a train, leastways a parly,” he added, correcting himself.
But the coachman had a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes. For the old horse, hearing his voice, had turned his long neck, and when his old friend went up to him and laid his hand on his side, he whinnied for joy, and laid his big head on his master's breast. This settled the matter. The coachman's arms were round the horse's neck in a moment, and he fairly broke down and cried. The cab-master had never been so fond of a horse himself as to hug him like that, but he saw in a moment how it was. And he must have been a good-hearted fellow, for I never heard of such an idea coming into the head of any other man with a horse to sell: instead of putting something on to the price because he was now pretty sure of selling him, he actually took a pound off what he had meant to ask for him, saying to himself it was a shame to part old friends.
Diamond's father, as soon as he came to himself, turned and asked how much he wanted for the horse.
“I see you're old friends,” said the owner.
“It's my own old Diamond. I liked him far the best of the pair, though the other was good. You ain't got him too, have you?”