“Yaw, put I ton’t vant dat hoss.”
“I tell you I only want you to bid, and when I think he has offered enough, I shall wink to you, and you must stop bidding.”
“Put I needn’t have te hoss, eh?”
“No, you blockhead! Do as I tell you, if you want him to buy the horse.”
All this while, however, the Yankee was at work putting on the alien tail and putting in the ejected teeth, which, instead of being tied in, as Paul had said, were, in truth wired together with a skill which a modern dentist might have envied. It must have cost Boston time and patience to have produced such a double row of horse-incisors and molars; but he accomplished the task quite to his satisfaction—“good enough to deceive a dumb Dutchman,” he ejaculated.
It took some time to drum into Swedlepipe’s head that he was only required to make Peter Funk bids against the destined victim. Boston knew full well that if he sold Ten Eyck he would make a powerful enemy, as the tall man was high in power in the House of Good Hope. But, the events which he knew were on the march made him careless of consequences. Ten Eyck came at the appointed time, and found the two seated amicably over some long pipes and a goodly measure of apple-jack.
“Vere is dat hoss?” he said.
“Outside,” said Boston. “Let’s go out and see him. Oh, by the way, since you were here my friend Swedlepipe has seen this horse and has taken a fancy to it. I am afraid he will bid against you.”
“You promised him to me.”