“You have nothing particular that you'd wish to say to me?”
“No: devil a syllable.”
“Nor a proposal of any kind to make me?”
Hycy pulled up his horse.
“Bryan, my good friend, let me look at you,” he exclaimed. “Is it right to have you at large? My word and honor I'm beginning to fear that there's something wrong with your upper works.”
“Never mind,” replied Bryan, laughing, “I'm satisfied—the thing's a mistake—so there's my hand to you, Hycy. I've no suspicion of the kind against you and it's all right.”
“What proposal, in heaven's name, could I have to make to you?” exclaimed Hycy..
“There now,” continued Bryan, “that'll do; didn't I say I was satisfied? Move on, now and overtake your friend—by the way he's a fine horseman, they say?”
“Very few better,” said Hycy; “but some there are—and one I know—ha! ha! ha! Good-bye, Bryan, and don't be made a fool of for nothing.”
Bryan nodded and laughed, and Hycy dashed on to overtake his friend Clinton.