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.” “I calculate you are wrong there, Mister Longshanks. Why, I know that hoss you are riding. He is forty years old. Some say that he was brought over in the Mayflower; some say not. A man like you oughtn’t to ride such a horse. Look at Mynheer Swedlepipe, and see what a hoss _he_ rides! I s’pose you have heard how I sold the other one to him. That was all a mistake, and I have made it all right. Haven’t I, Mynheer Swedlepipe?” “Yaw;” said Paul. “Dat ish goot now; dat vash bad hoss, dis ish goot von.” Ten Eyck looked at the prancing pony with infinite disgust. Such was the nature of the two men, that one could not bear to have the other possess any thing which he could not get. Every prance of the Narragansett, every shake of his long tail, went to the tall man’s very heart. As for Swedlepipe, his face fairly beamed with exultation, and he stuttered in his joy, when he attempted to speak. “The fact is, Mynheer Ten Eyck,” said Boston, “you don’t know who to buy a horse of, and you get cheated. Now I will tell you, in confidence, that there are several men in Windsor who would not hesitate to cheat you, upon any occasion. But, I have a character to lose; I must deal in a good article. If I sell you bad goods or a bad hoss, you will not buy of me again. Do you see?” Ten Eyck saw. “Very good, then. If you had bought a horse from me, it would have been a good one, if you paid me a _good price_. Of course you wouldn’t expect a very good horse for a very poor price. That’s plain enough, is it not?” “You got long tongue, Boston,” said Ten Eyck. “Have you got a hoss to sell?”