“Here is my black gentleman. What do you think of him?”
Don Fulano trotted up and licked a handful of corn from my hand. Corn was four dollars a bushel. The profits of the “Foolonner” Mine did not allow of such luxuries. But old Gerrian had presented me with a sack of it.
Fulano crunched his corn, snorted his thanks, and then snuffed questioningly, and afterwards approvingly, about the stranger.
“Soul and body of Bucephalus!” says Brent. “There is a quadruped that is a HORSE.”
“Isn’t he?” said I, thrilling with pride for him.
“To look at such a fellow is a romance. He is the most beautiful thing I ever saw.”
“No exceptions?”
“Not one.”
“Woman! lovely woman!” I cried, with mock enthusiasm.
“If I had ever seen a woman to compare with that horse, after her kind, I should not be here.”