“He is high-couraged, sir,” said Bishop, “and has played the devil with some folks. You seem to know how to handle a horse.” Waddy ran his hand over the legs, as free from knots as a Malacca joint; then standing at his head, he let the colt nibble at a bit of moist biscuit and took the opportunity quietly to look at his mouth. “He seems all right,” he said, at last. “Move him a little, if you please.” Bishop started him off. The stride and spring were smooth as a raw oyster; both told of speed and power. “There’s no mistake about him,” said Bishop, bringing him back. “I meant to have kept him to ride myself, but times is gittin’ hard [_i. e._, brandy has gone up]. Besides, my daughter, Sally, is gittin’ sicker an’ I’ll have to go south with her next winter and shan’t need no horse, an’ ’ll want the rocks. Mr. Tootler knows the horse an’ kin tell you what he did when we tried him on the course. If you buy him an’ ’ll keep dark, you’ll be mighty apt to take ’em down that tries to run with you.” “I’ll take him,” said Ira, without more parley. “Tootler, will you give Mr. Bishop your check?” While Tootler was drawing the check, Cecilia came out with a small basket. She offered it to Bishop. “I’ve been putting up some jelly for Miss Sally,” she said. “It may tempt her. How is she to-day?” “The best to be said,” replied Bishop, “is she ain’t gittin’ no wus. The doctor says she ain’t so much sick as down in the mouth. She’s off her feed an’ seems to have got suthin’ on her mind. P’r’aps it’s religion. She wants me to stop swearin’; but I’ll be durned if I kin. I wish you’d come over an’ see her ag’in, ma’am. You’re the only one as does her any good.” He spoke with evident feeling and sincerity, and Mrs. Tootler promised to go. A moment later, Mr. Tootler emerged from the house and handed Bishop the check. The black was transferred to Mr. Waddy. “I’m sorry to part with him,” said Bishop, real regret in his voice; “but you look like you’d treat him well, sir. He ain’t used to the whip. He’s never been struck but once, when that damn Belden talked of buyin’ him. Belden handled him kind er careless an’ then give him a crack. I guess he got dropped easy--the fool! He’s had a spite agin the horse ever since, an’ I’m kind er glad to git him out o’ the way of any mean trick. Belden’s a kind o’ feller not to fergit it when any critter’s been too much fer him--horse or man or woman, either.” He looked at the horse for a moment, and then walked away, turning to look back once or twice regretfully, but consoling himself by the expensive check, subscribed by a man well known in State Street. “Don’t you remember Sally Bishop?” asked Tootler of his friend. “A very handsome girl she was--poor thing!--dying now. Seems to me you used to go with Belden to see her.”