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Such Is Life by [pseud.] Joseph Furphy
page 19 of 550 (03%)
dashed off the Thirty-ninth chapter of the Book of Job, to the yesterday
when Long Gordon translated into ringing verse the rhythmic clatter
of the hoof-beats he loved so well--all might find fulfilment
in this unvalued beast, now providentially owned by the softest of foreigners.

"Well?" interrogated M'Nab, as I rejoined him.

"Don't you think he's a bit chest-foundered?" I asked in reply.

"Divil a wan o' me knows. Mebbe he is, begog. Sure A hed n't him long enough
fur till fine out."

"And how much boot are you going to give me?" I asked, with a feeling of shame
which did honour to my heart.

"Och, now, lave this! Boot! is it? Sure A cud kerry thon wee shilty ondher
may oxther! Ye have a right till be givin' me a thrifle fur luck.
A'll let ye aff we two notes."

But after five minutes' more palaver, M'Nab agreed to an even swap.
I had pen and ink in my pocket; my note-book supplied paper;
and receipts were soon exchanged. Then the saddles were shifted,
and we cantered ahead till we rejoined Thompson. I tied my new acquisition
behind the wagon, where, for the first five minutes, he severely tested
the inch rope which secured him.

"Now, Mr. M'Nab," said I, "I'll give you my word that the mare
is just what you see. You may as well tell me what's wrong with the horse?"

"Ax Billy about thon. Mebbe he's foun' out some thricks, or somethin'."
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