“Damn the owner. If he wants to set around here and let his horse be used up right before his eyes let him do it. It’s no affair of mine or yours.”
“The secret is out,” thought Nick. “The brutes intend to steal into the stable to-night and cripple the beast in some way.”
“Come, young fellow,” said Morris, “I’ve talked myself dry again. Fill up de glasses once more, and we’ll get out.”
Nick gave the required order, and the fellow took down his whisky without seeing that Nick threw the contents of his glass upon the floor.
“Now, mind what I’ve told you,” said Morris, as they stood in the doorway, “and don’t give me away. I shouldn’t have said anything about it if it hadn’t been for the whisky you throwed into me.”
“’Pon me honah! I’ll not mention it to a living soul.”
As the two passed into the bar-room the sound of excited voices came from the street in front of the house.
Nick was now anxious to get away, but he paused for a moment and listened as the sounds became louder.
In a moment a small boy, clad in the costume of a jockey, dashed in at the front door, and dodged behind tables and chairs in his efforts to keep out of the reach of a red-faced fellow, who, riding whip in hand, was pursuing him.
The boy succeeded in eluding his pursuer for some moments, much to the delight of the bystanders.