had gaped at me, had been cheated by his companion, and was accordingly
resentful.

Two men more at odds in outward appearance could not easily have been
found. The gaper was plain country, a big, bulky man, with a paunch that,
as he sat, sagged nearly to his knees, a triple chin, and a nose with a
knobly end, in shape and colour like an overripe strawberry. His companion
was a little fellow, lean and sharp-cut, with a head like a ferret's. We
country-siders know your Londoner. Many an hour I had sat under the clump
of elms at the lane-end and watched the travellers. Hence, doubtless, my
taste in fashionable head-gear, like this of mine, lately belonging to
Swift Nicks, now disposed carefully on the table at my side. I would have
wagered it against Joe Braggs' frowsy old milking-cap that the little man
was a Londoner.

Little as he was, his cold, calculating anger overbore his antagonist,
who was no great hand at stating his case, good as it was.

"The landlord knows me and knows the gelding," said the little man. "You
know less about horses than a Mile End tapster. Fetch him in, and let him
decide. I suppose you rode him!"

"What a God's name, d'ye think I bought him for, Mr. Wicks? To look at?"

"By the look of you I should think you bought him as a present for a
baby. Sixteen stone six if you're an ounce, and riding a two-year-old!
Damme, no wonder he throws out curbs! Fetch the landlord, I tell ye!"

Out burst the fat man in a great fury, and in a minute or two came back
with the landlord and an ostler. Then the wrangle became hotter and more