“Ah-ha! Boston. Dat you, eh? Dis pretty goot hoss; glad dat you not sheat me too mooch dis time. You come for dem guilders, eh?”
“Not yet, mynheer. You see I’ve been pesky busy sense I left you. But I’ll keep my word. There comes Ten Eyck now.”
“Yaw, dat is goot. Let me stant by vile you sheat him.”
“I am only going to begin to-day. To-morrow I will finish,” replied Boston.
The ancestor of that famous race, the Ten Eyck’s of our country, rode up at this moment. It may be well to mention that this man and Swedlepipe were hereditary foes, and lost no opportunity for inflicting loss upon each other. Ten Eyck had rather the best of the encounter, as he had heard the story of the horse sold to Swedlepipe a few months before, which had caused the quarrel between the peddler and Swedlepipe.
In person, the two Dutchmen were at variance. Swedlepipe was short and stout; Ten Eyck was tall and lank. Swedlepipe’s hair was black; Ten Eyck’s was yellow, nearly approaching to red. Swedlepipe’s voice was pitched in a high treble; Ten Eyck had a deep, resounding bass. In an encounter with cudgels, the battle would have been to the strong, in the person of Swedlepipe. The acute Ten Eyck knew this right well, and likewise knew that he had the advantage in the use of harsh words and taunts. He had been especially hard upon poor Paul in the matter of the horse-trade.
The steed which Ten Eyck himself bestrode would not have been selected as an object of admiration upon Broadway or Rotten Row. In spite of the food which his master crammed into him, he would not grow fat. His bones protruded in a highly objectionable manner. His head was nearly double the size of that of any ordinary horse, and his neck being very long, he found it extremely difficult to hold it up. In consequence, a line drawn from the ears to the tail would have touched the back at every point. Boston hailed the appearance of this remarkable beast with a yell of delight.
“Oh, Lord! What a hoss—what a hoss!”
Swedlepipe joined at once in the cry.
“Whose hoss you laughing at, you Yankee? Dat hoss you sell to Swedlepipe a little worse, I guess.”