"Lest you should be a Yorkshireman," said I, "and should run away with
the horse."

"Yorkshire?" said the man. "I am from Suffolk--silly Suffolk--so you
need not be afraid of my running away with him."

"Oh, if that's the case," said I, "I should be afraid that the horse
would run away with you!"

Threading my way as well as I could through the press, I returned to the
yard of the inn, where, dismounting, I stood still, holding the horse by
the bridle. A jockey, who had already bargained with me, entered,
accompanied by another individual.

"Here is my lord come to look at the horse, young man," said the jockey.
My lord was a tall figure of about five-and-thirty. He had on his head a
hat somewhat rusty, and on his back a surtout of blue rather worse for
wear. His forehead, if not high, was exceedingly narrow; his eyes were
brown, with a rat-like glare in them. He had scarcely glanced at the
horse when, drawing in his cheeks, he thrust out his lips like a baboon
to a piece of sugar.

"Is this horse yours?" said he.

"It's my horse," said I. "Are you the person who wishes to make an
honest penny by it?" alluding to a phrase of the jockey's.

"How?" said he, drawing up his head with a very consequential look, and
speaking with a very haughty tone. "What do you mean?" We looked at each
other full in the face. "My agent here informs me that you ask one