“She’s a pretty creature,” said she, “but I have eyes. How did she hurt her left hind ankle?”
The freight agent stared. “Her left hind ankle! Why—there ain’t a sign of a limp in it. And her knee action’s perfect.”
“She was lame two weeks ago,” said the girl, and looked at him. Jarvis had brought his colts to a temporary stand-still, and was observing the little scene with amusement.
“Why—she got a stone in that left hind foot,” admitted the freight agent, walking the mare toward the corner of the building. “Any horse’ll do that. She ain’t lame now—wa’n’t then to amount to anything. But I’d like to know how you guessed it.”
She was still laughing. “I suppose you would let her go for two hundred and twenty-five, now, wouldn’t you?”
The freight agent led his mare away without deigning to reply, except by a shake of the head. He came back and loaded the freight into the wagon, leaving the trunks till the last. As he was shouldering the first of these, Agnes stopped him.
“Will you take two hundred and fifty for Betty?” she asked, with perfect coolness, except for a certain gleam in her eyes.
“You ain’t buyin’ horses yourself?”
“I asked you a question.”
“She ain’t no lady’s horse.”