"The nag you swopp'd the bay roadster for with Tom Brown?"
"Him," answered Crobble. "Well, I took him to Hertfordshire Wednesday last—"
"He took you, you mean."
"Well, what's the odds?"
"The odds, why, in your favour, to be sure, as I dare say the horse can witness."
"Well, howsomever, there was a good field—and off we went. The level country was all prime; but he took a hedge, and nearly julked all the life out o' me. I lost my stirrup, and should have lost my seat, had'nt I clutched his mane—"
"And kept your seat by main force?"
"Very good."
"Well, away we went, like Johnny Gilpin. Hunting may be sport, says I, but I'm blest if its pleasure. This infernal horse was always fond of shying, and now he's going to shy me off; and, ecod! no sooner said than done. Over his head I go, like a rocket."
"Like a foot-ball, you mean," interrupted Mr. Timmis.