"I sent the horse to him," I said.
"I don't care a fiddler's damn where you sent the horse," replied the hunchback. "Dunk didn't drive them nails. They're beat over at the point instead of being clinched. It's a slut job."
"I expect," said Jud, "it was his ganglin' son-in-law, Ab."
"That's the laddiebuck," said Ump, "an' he ought to be withed. That hind shoe has pulled loose an' broke. We've got to git it put on."
"Then we shall have to try Christian," said I; "there's no other shop this side of the Stone Coal."
"I know it," mused Ump, "an' when he goes to the devil, flat-nosed niggers will never shovel dirt on a meaner dog."
Jud arose and began to bridle the Cardinal. "He's mighty triflin'," said he; "he uses store nails, an' he's too lazy to p'int 'em."
Now, to use the manufactured nail was brand enough in the Hills. But to drive it into a horse's foot without first testing the point was a piece of turpitude approaching the criminal.
"Well," said I, "he'll drive no nail into El Mahdi that isn't home-made and smooth."
"Then Ump 'ill have to stand over him," replied Jud.