"Beg your pardon, Mr. Dodge," called the chauffeur, "but are you going to want me soon?"
"I want you at once," called back the banker, adding in a lower voice to Fred:
"Flannery, my new chauffeur, was a coachman for many years. He's a fine judge of horseflesh."
Flannery came up, an inquiring look on his face.
"I want you to look this pony over and tell me just what you think of him," directed the banker.
Flannery went over the pony's "lines" with the air of an expert, as, indeed, he was.
"Fine-looking little beast," said Flannery. "He has been well fed and groomed."
Then he looked into the pony's mouth, examining the teeth with great care.
"Used to be a nice animal once," decided Flannery, "but he was that a long time ago. He's about twenty-five or twenty-six years old."
"What!" exploded young Ripley, growing very red in the face.