“No, no, sir,” said Sam Petch soothingly. “Only you asked me to be on the look-out for a cheap little pony and cart, and I believe I’ve got an offer such as you’ll never see the like of again.”
“Well—I can’t now——” began Andy.
“Sir,” entreated Sam, “it’s only the matter of a minute. The circus is doing badly this summer. Weather too fine. And the owner’s up a gum-tree for a ten-pound note.”
“How did you hear of it?” said Andy, almost unconsciously following his handy man round a corner.
“Oh, I always pick up news—overheard him telling somebody,” said Sam, forbearing to mention that the information was acquired in the bar of the Blue Tiger.
Andy glanced at him once or twice—but said no more. After all, nobody could swear he had been drinking beer—they could only be quite certain that he had eaten peppermints.
“Always have to eat one after a full meal,” said Sam. “Had a delicate stomach ever since I ate some tinned lobster that had been away from the sea a bit too long. Oh, here’s the little turnout, all ready and waiting.”
His air of ingenuous surprise showed what he might have done had his lines been cast in dramatic circles, and so did the honest way in which he said to a seedy, flashy man—
“Now, mind, I’m not going to advise this gentleman to buy. He must see for himself, and judge for himself.”
“It’s worth fifty. I’ll take twenty for it,” said the owner, rather thickly.