_I.P._ _In_-deed! You don't say so?

_C.G._ (_sighing_). Only too true. Sir. Why--(_in a gush of
confidence_)--look at my own case. Being obliged to leave the country,
and give up my carriage, I put my horse into this sale, at a _very_
low reserve of twenty pounds. (_Entre nous_, it's worth at least
double that.) Between the Auctioneer, and a couple of rascally
horse-dealers--who I found out, by pure accident, wanted my animal
particularly _for a match pair_--the sale of my horse is what _they_
call "bunnicked up." _Then_ they come to me, and offer me money. I
spot their game, and am so indignant that I'll have nothing to do with
them, at _any_ price. Wouldn't sell dear old _Bogey_, whom my wife
and children are so fond of, to such brutal blackguards, on _any_
consideration. No, Sir, the horse has done me good service--a sounder
nag never walked on four hoofs; and I'd rather sell it to a good,
kind master, for twenty pounds, aye, or even eighteen, than let these
rascals have it, though they _have_ run up as high as thirty q----,
ahem! guineas.

_I.P._ Have they indeed, now? And what have you done with the horse?

_C.G._ Put it into livery close by, Sir. And, unless I can find a good
master for it, by Jove, I'll take it back again, and _give it away to
a friend_. Perhaps, Sir, you'd like to have a look at the animal. The
stables are only in the next street, and--as a friend, and with no
eye to business--I should be pleased to show poor _Bogey_ to anyone so
sympathetic as yourself.

[_I.P., after some further chat of a friendly nature, agrees
to go and "run his eye over him."_