“I’d tip you a stave, only I’ve got a hoarseness since yesterday, and I’d ask Alice to play a bit, only there’s no piano here to kick up a gingle with, and Charlie never sang a note in his life, and”—standing before the fire, he yawned long and loud—“by Jove, that wasn’t over civil of me, but old friends need not be stiff, and I vote we yawn all round for company; and I’ll forgive ye, for my hour’s come, and I’ll be taking the road.”
“I wish so much I had a bed to offer you, Harry; but you know all about it—there hasn’t been time to arrange anything,” said Charles.
“Won’t you stay and take some tea?” urged Alice.
“I never could abide it, child; thank ye all the same,” said he, “I’d as soon drink a mug o’ whey.”
“And what about the gray hunter—you did not sell him yet?” asked Charles.
“I don’t well know what to do about him,” answered his brother. “I’d a sold him for fifty, only old Clinker wouldn’t pass him for sound. Clinker and me, we had words about that.”
“I want fifty pounds very much, if I could get it,” said Charles.
“I never knew a fellow that didn’t want fifty very bad, if he could get it,” laughed Harry; “but you’ll not be doin’ that bad, I’m afeard, if ye get half the money.”
“The devil!—do you really—why I thought, with luck, I might get seventy. I’m hard up, Harry, and I know you’ll do your best for me,” said Charles, to whom this was really a serious question.
“And with luck so you might; but chaps isn’t easy done these times; and though I swear it’s only his mouth, he steps short at the off side, and a fellow with an eye in his head won’t mistake his action.”