evening, Dan'l Borem sat with his sister alone.
John Lummox, who was now residing with them, was attending a social
engagement. Mrs. Bigsby knew that Dan'l had something to communicate,
but knew that he would do so in his own way.

"Speakin' o' hoss trades," he began.

"We WASN'T and we ain't goin' to," said Mrs. Bigsby with great
promptness. "I've heard enough of 'em."

"But this here one hez suthin' to do with your fr'en', John Lummox,"
said Dan'l, with a chuckle.

Mrs. Bigsby stared. "Go on, then," she said, "but, for goodness' sake,
cut it short."

Dan'l threw away his quid and replenished it from his silver tobacco
box. Mrs. Bigsby shuddered slightly as she recognized the usual
preliminary to prolixity, but determined, as far as possible, to make
her brother brief.

"It mout be two weeks ago," began Dan'l, "that I see John Lummox over
at Palmyra, where he'd bin visitin'. He was drivin' a hoss, the
beautifulest critter--for color--I ever saw. It was yaller, with mane
and tail a kinder golden, like the hair o' them British Blondes that
was here in the Variety Show."

"Dan'l!" exclaimed Mrs. Bigsby, horrified. "And you allowed you never
went thar!"

"Saw 'em on the posters--and mebbe the color was a little brighter
thar," said Dan'l carelessly--"but who's interruptin' now?"

"Go on," said Mrs. Bigsby.

"'Got a fine hoss thar,' sez I; 'reckon I never see such a purty
color,' sez I. 'He is purty,' sez he, 'per'aps too purty for ME to be
a-drivin', but he isn't fast.' 'I ain't speakin' o' that,' sez I;
'it's his looks that I'm talkin' of; whar might ye hev got him?' 'He
was offered to me by a fr'en' o' me boyhood,' sez he; 'he's a pinto
mustang,' sez he, 'from Californy, whar they breed 'em.' 'What's a
pinto hoss?' sez I. 'The same ez a calico hoss,' sez he; 'what they
have in cirkises, but ye never see 'em that color.' En he was right,
for when I looked him over I never DID see such a soft and silky coat,
and his mane and tail jest glistened. 'It IS a little too showy for
ye,' sez I, 'but I might take him at a fair price. What's your fr'en'
askin'?' 'He won't sell him to anybody but me,' sez Lummox; 'he's a
horror o' hoss traders, anyway, and his price is more like a gift to a
fr'en'.' 'What might that price be, ef it's a fair question?' sez I,
for the more I looked at the hoss the more I liked him. 'A hundred and
fifty dollars,' sez he; 'but my fr'en' would ask YOU double that.'
'Couldn't