“Your request, most unequivocal sir, would seem but reasonable; and so considering it, I have bestowed due reflection upon it.  Unhappily, however, for the Pony Club and its worthy representative, I am quite too poorly provided with worldly wealth at this moment to part with much of it.  A few shillings to procure you a cravat—­such as you may get of Kentucky manufacture—­I should not object to.  Beyond this, however (and the difficulty grieves me sorely), I am so perfectly incapacitated from doing anything, that I am almost persuaded, in order to the bettering of my own condition, to pay the customary fees, and applying to your honorable body for the privilege of membership, procure those means of lavish generosity which my necessity, and not my will, prevents me from bestowing upon you.”

“A very pretty idea,” returned he of the road; “and under such circumstances, your jest about the cravat from Kentucky is by no means wanting in proper application.  But the fact is, our numbers are just now complete—­our ranks are full—­and the candidates for the honor are so numerous as to leave little chance for an applicant.  You might be compelled to wait a long season, unless the Georgia penitentiary and Georgia guard shall create a vacancy in your behalf.”

“Truly, the matter is of very serious regret,” with an air of much solemnity, replied the youth, who seemed admirably to have caught up the spirit of the dialogue—­“and it grieves me the more to know, that, under this view of the case, I can no more satisfy you than I can serve myself.  It is quite unlucky that your influence is insufficient to procure me admission into your fraternity; since it is impossible that I should pay the turnpike, when the club itself, by refusing me membership, will not permit me to acquire the means of doing so.  So, as the woods grow momently more dull and dark, and as I may have to ride far for a supper, I am constrained, however unwilling to leave good company, to wish you a fair evening, and a long swing of fortune, most worthy knight of the highway, and trusty representative of the Pony Club.”

With these words, the youth, gathering up the bridle of the horse, and slightly touching him with the rowel, would have proceeded on his course; but the position of the outlaw now underwent a corresponding change, and, grasping the rein of the animal, he arrested his farther progress.

“I am less willing to separate than yourself from good company, gentle youth, as you may perceive; since I so carefully restrain you from a ride over a road so perilous as this.  You have spoken like a fair and able scholar this afternoon; and talents, such as you possess, come too seldom into our forests to suffer them, after so brief a sample, to leave us so abruptly.  You must come to terms with the turnpike.”

“Take your hands from my horse, sirrah!” was the only response made by the youth; his tone and manner corresponding with the change in the situation of the parties.  “I would not do you harm willingly; I want no man’s blood on my head; but my pistols, let me assure you, are much more readily come at than my purse.  Tempt me not to use them—­stand from the way.”