Fred spurred his horse, and they trotted on a little way.  When they slackened again, Mr. Bambridge said—­

“Not but what the roan was a better trotter than yours.”

“I’m quite satisfied with his paces, I know,” said Fred, who required all the consciousness of being in gay company to support him; “I say his trot is an uncommonly clean one, eh, Horrock?”

Mr. Horrock looked before him with as complete a neutrality as if he had been a portrait by a great master.

Fred gave up the fallacious hope of getting a genuine opinion; but on reflection he saw that Bambridge’s depreciation and Horrock’s silence were both virtually encouraging, and indicated that they thought better of the horse than they chose to say.

That very evening, indeed, before the fair had set in, Fred thought he saw a favorable opening for disposing advantageously of his horse, but an opening which made him congratulate himself on his foresight in bringing with him his eighty pounds.  A young farmer, acquainted with Mr. Bambridge, came into the Red Lion, and entered into conversation about parting with a hunter, which he introduced at once as Diamond, implying that it was a public character.  For himself he only wanted a useful hack, which would draw upon occasion; being about to marry and to give up hunting.  The hunter was in a friend’s stable at some little distance; there was still time for gentlemen to see it before dark.  The friend’s stable had to be reached through a back street where you might as easily have been poisoned without expense of drugs as in any grim street of that unsanitary period.  Fred was not fortified against disgust by brandy, as his companions were, but the hope of having at last seen the horse that would enable him to make money was exhilarating enough to lead him over the same ground again the first thing in the morning.  He felt sure that if he did not come to a bargain with the farmer, Bambridge would; for the stress of circumstances, Fred felt, was sharpening his acuteness and endowing him with all the constructive power of suspicion.  Bambridge had run down Diamond in a way that he never would have done (the horse being a friend’s) if he had not thought of buying it; every one who looked at the animal—­even Horrock—­was evidently impressed with its merit.  To get all the advantage of being with men of this sort, you must know how to draw your inferences, and not be a spoon who takes things literally.  The color of the horse was a dappled gray, and Fred happened to know that Lord Medlicote’s man was on the look-out for just such a horse.  After all his running down, Bambridge let it out in the course of the evening, when the farmer was absent, that he had seen worse horses go for eighty pounds.  Of course he contradicted himself twenty times over, but when you know what is likely to be true you can test a man’s admissions.  And Fred could not but reckon his own judgment of a horse as worth something.  The farmer had paused