’Vy we ‘ave Rumbleton in,’ replied Leather, thoughtfully, stroking down his hair as he spoke, ’and we ’ave Jack o’Lanthorn in, and we ’ave the Camel in, and there’s the little Hirish oss with the sprig tail—­Jack-a-Dandy, as I calls him, and the Flyer will be in to-night, he’s just out a hairing, as it were, with old Mr. Callipash.’

‘Ah, Rumbleton won’t do for Mr. Sponge,’ observed Buckram, thoughtfully, at the same time letting go a tremendous avalanche of silver down his trouser pocket, ‘Rumbleton won’t do,’ repeated he, ‘nor Jack-a-Dandy nouther.’

’Why, I wouldn’t commend neither on ’em,’ replied Peter, taking his cue from his master, ’only ven you axes me vot there’s in, you knows vy I must give you a cor-rect answer, in course.’

‘In course,’ nodded Buckram.

Leather and Buckram had a good understanding in the lying line, and had fallen into a sort of tacit arrangement that if the former was staunch about the horses he was at liberty to make the best terms he could for himself.  Whatever Buckram said, Leather swore to, and they had established certain signals and expressions that each understood.

‘I’ve an unkimmon nice oss,’ at length observed Mr. Buckram, with a scrutinizing glance at Sponge, ’and an oss in hevery respect werry like your work, but he’s an oss I’ll candidly state, I wouldn’t put in every one’s ’ands, for, in the fust place, he’s wery walueous, and in the second, he requires an ossman to ride; howsomever, as I knows that you can ride, and if you doesn’t mind taking my ‘ead man,’ jerking his elbow at Leather, ’to look arter him, I wouldn’t mind ‘commodatin’ on you, prowided we can ‘gree upon terms.’

‘Well, let’s see him,’ interrupted Sponge, ’and we can talk about terms after.’

‘Certainly, sir, certainly,’ replied Buckram, again letting loose a reaccumulated rush of silver down his pocket.  ’Here, Tom!  Joe!  Harry! where’s Sam?’ giving the little tinkler of a bell a pull as he spoke.

’Sam be in the straw ‘ouse,’ replied Leather, passing through a stable into a wooden projection beyond, where the gentleman in question was enjoying a nap.

‘Sam!’ said he, ‘Sam!’ repeated he, in a louder tone, as he saw the object of his search’s nose popping through the midst of the straw.

‘What now?’ exclaimed Sam, starting up, and looking wildly around; ’what now?’ repeated he, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

‘Get out Ercles,’ said Leather, sotto voce.

The lad was a mere stripling—­some fifteen or sixteen, years, perhaps—­tall, slight, and neat, with dark hair and eyes, and was dressed in a brown jacket—­a real boy’s jacket, without laps, white cords, and top-boots.  It was his business to risk his neck and limbs at all hours of the day, on all sorts of horses, over any sort of place that any person chose to require him to put a horse at, and this he did with the daring pleasure of youth as yet undaunted by any serious fall.  Sam now bestirred himself to get out the horse.  The clambering of hoofs presently announced his approach.