Long practice had given the Cheap Jack a quickness in detecting a possible purchaser which almost amounted to an extra sense, and he at once began to assail the Squire. But a nearer view of the white horse had roused Mr. Ammaby’s indignation.
“I wonder,” he said, “that you’re not ashamed to exhibit a poor beast that’s been so ill-treated. For heaven’s sake, take it to the knacker’s, and put it out of its misery at once.”
“Look ye, my lord,” said the Cheap Jack, touching his cap. “The horse have been ill-treated, I knows. I’m an afflicted man, my lord, and the boy I’ve employed, he’s treated him shameful; and when a man can’t feed hisself, he can’t keep his beast fat neither. That’s why I wants to get rid on him, my lord. I can’t keep him as I should, and I’d like to see him with a gentleman like yourself as’ll do him justice. He comes of a good stock, my lord. Take him for fifteen pound,” he added, waddling up to the Squire, “and when you’ve had him three months, you’ll sell him for thirty.”
This was too much. The Squire broke out in a furious rage.
“You unblushing scoundrel!” he cried. “D’ye think I’m a fool? Fifteen pounds for a horse you should be fined for keeping alive! Be off with it, and put it out of misery.” And he turned indignantly into the inn, the Cheap Jack calling after him, “Say ten pound, my lord!” the bystanders giggling, and the ostler whistling dryly through the straw in his mouth, “Take it to the knacker’s, Cheap John.”
“Oh, daddy dear! have you got him?” cried Amabel, as the Squire re-entered the parlor.
“No, my dear; the poor beast isn’t fit to draw carts, my darling. It’s been so badly treated, the only kindness now is to kill it, and put it out of pain. And I’ve told the hunchback so.”
It was a matter of course and humanity to the Squire, but it overwhelmed poor Amabel. She gasped, “Kill it!” and then bursting into a flood of tears she danced on the floor, wringing her hands and crying, “Oh, oh, oh! don’t, please, don’t let him be killed! Oh! do, do buy him and let him die comfortably in the paddock. Oh, do, do, do!”
“Nonsense, Amabel, you mustn’t dance like that. Remember, you promised to be good,” said the Squire. The child gulped down her tears, and stood quite still, with her face pale from very misery.
“I don’t want not to be good,” said she. “But, oh dear, I do wish I had some money, that I might buy that poor old horse, and let him die comfortably at home.”