It is said that every man has his weak or ‘do-able’ point, if the sharp ones can but discover it.  This observation does not refer, we believe, to men with an innocent penchant for play, or the turf, or for buying pictures, or for collecting china, or for driving coaches and four, all of which tastes proclaim themselves sooner or later, but means that the most knowing, the most cautious, and the most careful, are all to be come over, somehow or another.

There are few things more surprising in this remarkable world than the magnificent way people talk about money, or the meannesses they will resort to in order to get a little.  We hear fellows flashing and talking in hundreds and thousands, who will do almost anything for a five-pound note.  We have known men pretending to hunt countries at their own expense, and yet actually ‘living out of the hounds.’  Next to the accomplishment of that—­apparently almost impossible feat—­comes the dexterity required for living by horse-dealing.

A little lower down in the scale comes the income derived from the profession of a ’go-between’—­the gentleman who can buy the horse cheaper than you can.  This was Caingey Thornton’s trade.  He was always lurking about people’s stables talking to grooms and worming out secrets—­whose horse had a cough, whose was a wind-sucker, whose was lame after hunting, and so on—­and had a price current of every horse in the place—­knew what had been given, what the owners asked, and had a pretty good guess what they would take.

Waffles would have been an invaluable customer to Thornton if the former’s groom, Mr. Figg, had not been rather too hard with his ‘reg’lars.’  He insisted on Caingey dividing whatever he got out of his master with him.  This reduced profits considerably; but still, as it was a profession that did not require any capital to set up with, Thornton could afford to be liberal, having only to tack on to one end to cut off at the other.

After the opening Sponge gave as they rode home with the hounds, Thornton had no difficulty in sounding him on the subject.

‘You’ll not think me impertinent, I hope,’ observed Caingey, in his most deferential style, to our hero when they met at the News’-room the next day—­’you’ll not think me impertinent, I hope; but I think you said as we rode home, yesterday, that you didn’t altogether like the brown horse you were on?’

‘Did I?’ replied Mr. Sponge, with apparent surprise; ’I think you must have misunderstood me.’

‘Why, no; it wasn’t exactly that,’ rejoined Mr. Thornton, ’but you said you liked him better than you did, I think?’

‘Ah!  I believe I did say something of the sort,’ replied Sponge casually—­’I believe I did say something of the sort; but he carried me so well that I thought better of him.  The fact was,’ continued Mr. Sponge, confidentially, ’I thought him rather too light mouthed; I like a horse that bears more on the hand.’