"Twenty-five, sir!" retorted the shabby man.
"Hey?" cried the Captain, staring from one to the other. "What's all this? B'gad! I say stop a bit—wait a minute! Bob, lend me your bucket."
Hereupon the Corinthian obligingly vacating that article. Captain Slingsby incontinent stood upon it, and from that altitude began to harangue the yard, flourishing his whip after the manner of an auctioneer's hammer.
"Now here you are, gentlemen!" he cried. "I offer you a devilishly ugly, damnably vicious brute, b'gad! I offer you a four-legged demon, an accursed beast that nobody can ever hope to ride—a regular terror, curse me! Killed one groom already, will probably kill another. Now, what is your price for this lady's pet? Look him over and bid accordingly."
"Twenty-five pound, sir," said the shabby man.
"Thirty!" said Barnabas.
"Thirty-one, sir."
"Fifty!" said Barnabas.
"Fifty!" cried the Captain, flourishing his whip. "Fifty pounds from the gentleman in the neckcloth—fifty's the figure. Any more? Any advance on fifty? What, all done! Won't any one go another pound for a beast fit only for the knacker's yard? Oh, Gad, gentlemen, why this reticence? Are you all done?"
"I can't go no higher, sir," said the shabby man, shaking his gray head sadly.