“No, Paul. A lineal descendant of the old fellow, though. Do you think I could sell that horse to Ten Eyck?” “Yaw. He is so goot changed he would sheat me again. I never puys nottings from you no more.” “He must stand in the sun for a couple of hours, to let the color fasten, and then we will take him up to the house. Now let me put you up to a wrinkle. When Ten Eyck comes for the horse, I want you to bid against him.” “Vat ish dat?” “If he offers forty guilders for him, you must offer fifty.” “For dat hoss? I no wants dat hoss.” “You needn’t have him. Of course Ten Eyck will bid sixty. You will then say seventy.” “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.” “I promised to _show_ you a hoss, and I will keep my word. Come, mynheer, let us go together.” The horse was now tied in a little inclosure at the back of the house, whither the party now wended their way. Boston’s jockey-training had not been in vain, and it was really a handsome beast to look at! “Now, den,” said Ten Eyck, taking out a plethoric purse, “vat you ask for dat hoss?” “I don’t set any price for him,” replied Boston. “What do you think he is worth.” “I gif’s you vifty guilders.” “What do you say, Mynheer Swedlepipe? Shall I let it go for that? I leave it entirely to you.” “No,” said Paul. “I gif’s sixty.” “You try to git dat hoss, _pudding-head_,” cried the other; “I gif’s seventy guilders.”