'old 'im in no'ow, sir. I 'ad 'im down to the smith 'tother day, sir,
an' says 'e to me, says 'e, 'That's a screamer, that is.' 'Yes,' says
I, 'that his a fact.' 'Well,' says 'e--"

"Hang the smith!" cried the senior clerk, losing all patience; "can't
you answer me without so much talk? Is the horse too wild to ride?"

"Yes, sir, 'e is" said the groom, with a look of slightly offended
dignity, and drawing himself up--if we may use such an expression to
one who was always drawn up to such an extent that he seemed to be
just balanced on his heels, and required only a gentle push to lay
him flat on his back.

"Oh, I have it!" cried Peter Mactavish, who had been standing during
the conversation with his back to the fire, and a short pipe in his
mouth: "John Fowler, the miller, has just purchased a new pony. I'm
told it's an old buffalo-runner, and I'm certain he would lend it to
Charley at once."

"The very thing," said the senior clerk.--"Run, Tom; give the miller
my compliments, and beg the loan of his horse for Charley Kennedy.--I
think he knows you, Charley?"

The dinner-bell rang as the groom departed, and the clerks prepared
for their mid-day meal.

The Senior clerk's order to _"run"_ was a mere form of speech,
intended to indicate that haste was desirable. No man imagined for a
moment that Tom Whyte could, by any possibility, _run_. He hadn't run
since he was dismissed from the army, twenty years before, for