“Do you think so, Barnes? Do you think she’d let me run him in the Martin colors?” cried Scanlan, to whom the project now had suddenly assumed a most fascinating aspect.
“What would you give for him?” asked Barnes, in a business-like voice.
“A hundred, – a hundred and fifty, – two hundred, if I was sure of what you say.”
“Leave it to me, sir, – leave it all to me,” said Barnes, with the gravity of a diplomatist who understood his mission. “Where can I see you to-morrow?”
“I ‘ll be here about ten o’clock!”
“That will do, – enough said!” And Barnes, replacing the horse-sheet, slowly re-entered the stable; while Scanlan, putting spurs to his nag, dashed hurriedly away, his thoughts outstripping in their speed the pace he went, and traversing space with a rapidity that neither “blood” nor training ever vied with.