“No, nor the day arter nonther,” assented Jack Strong, who was a capital hand at finding fault, and could slur over his work with anybody.
Just then Mr. Gaiters arrived; and a deferential entrance was opened for his broadcloth by the group before the door.
The great Mr. Gaiters entered.
Treating the dirty blear-eyed Wetun more as a helper than an equal, he advanced deliberately up the stall and proceeded to examine the dead horse.
He looked first up his nostrils, next at his eye, then at his neck to see if he had been bled.
“I could have cured that horse if I’d had him in time,” observed he to Billy with a shake of the head.
“Neither you nor no man under the sun could ha’ done it,” asserted Mr. Wetun, indignant at the imputation.
“I could though—at least he never should have been in that state,” replied Gaiters coolly.
“I say you couldn’t!” retorted Wetun, putting his arms a-kimbo, and sideling up to the daring intruder, a man who hadn’t even asked leave to come into his stable.
A storm being imminent, our friend slipped off, and Sir Moses arrived from Henerey Brown &, Co.‘s just at the nick of time to prevent a fight.