"Used to be a nice animal once," decided Flannery, "but he was
that a long time ago. He's about twenty-five or twenty-six years
old."

"_What_!" exploded young Ripley, growing very red in the face.

"Thinking of buying him, sir?" asked the chauffeur respectfully."

"I've already bought him," confessed Fred ruefully.

Flannery whistled softly. Then he took the pony by the bridle,
dragging him along over the ground at a trot, the crowd making
way for him.

"Wind-broken," announced the ex-coachman, leading the trembling
animal back. "Bad case, too."

"A veterinary can cure that," Fred declared, speaking more airily
than his feelings warranted.

"Hm!" replied Flannery dryly. "You find the veterinary, Master
Fred, and I'll show the gentleman how to make his fortune if he
can cure wind-broken horses."

"Then what good is the pony?" demanded Fred in exasperation.

"Well, the hide ought to fetch three dollars, and there are a
good many pounds of soap fat in him," replied Flannery slowly.