“No use decaiving the man,” said the other dealer, speaking in Manx. “She's sixteen—'low she's nine, anyway.”
“Fair play, boys; spake English before a poor fellow,” said Black Tom, with a snort.
“This brother of mine lows she's seven,” said the first of the two.
“You thundering liar,” said Black Tom in Manx. “He says she's sixteen.”
“Dealing ponies then?” asked Pete.
“Anything, sir; anything. Buying for farmers up Lonan way,” said Black Tom.
“Come on,” said Pete; “here's Cæsar with a long-horned cow.”
They found the good man tethering a white, long-horned cow to the wheel of the tipped-up gig.
“How do, Cæsar? And how much for the long-horn?” said Black Tom.
“Aw, look at the base (beast), Mr. Quilliam. Examine her for yourself,” said Cæsar.