“Fifteen thousand a year, by gad!” exclaimed the taller of the two, giving a supercilious sniff to the brandy he had just poured out.

“Yes, ha! ha!—­and a damnably pretty filly into the bargain!”

“You always were so infernally lucky!” retorted the first.

“Call it rather the reward of virtue,” answered his companion with a laugh that showed his big, white teeth.

“And what of Beverley—­poor dey-vil?” inquired the first.

“Beverley!” repeated the other; “had he possessed any spirit he would have blown his brains out, like a gentleman; as it was, he preferred merely to disappear,” and herewith the speaker shrugged his shoulders, and drank off his glass with infinite relish and gusto.

“And a—­pretty filly, you say?”

“Oh, I believe you!  Country bred, but devilish well-blooded—­trust Beverley for that.”

“Egad, yes—­Beverley had a true eye for beauty or breed, poor dey-vil!” This expression of pity seemed to afford each of them much subtle enjoyment.  “Harking back to this—­filly,” said the big man, checking his merriment, “how if she jibs, and cuts up rough, kicks over the traces—­devilish awkward, eh?”

His companion raised his foot and rested it carelessly, upon the settle near by, and upon the heel of his slim riding-boot I saw a particularly cruel-looking, long-necked spur.

“My dear Mostyn,” said he, his nostrils working, “for such an emergency there is nothing like a pair of good sharp ‘persuaders,’” here he tapped the spur lightly with the slender gold-mounted cane he carried; “and I rather fancy I know just how and when to use ’em, Mostyn.”  And once again I saw the gleam of his big, white teeth.

All this I heard as they lolled within a yard of me, manifesting a lofty and contemptuous disregard for all save themselves, waited upon most deferentially by the smiling fat fellow, and stared at by the aged man with as much admiring awe as if they had each been nothing less than a lord mayor of London at the very least.  But now they leaned their heads together and spoke in lowered tones, but something in the leering eyes of the one, and the smiling lips of the other, told me that it was not of horses that they spoke.

“...  Bring her to reason, by gad!” said the slighter of the two, setting down his empty glass with a bang, “oh, trust me to know their pretty, skittish ways, trust me to manage ’em; I’ve never failed yet, by gad!”

“Curse me, that’s true enough!” said the other, and here they sank their voices again.

My ale being finished, I took up my staff, a heavy, knotted affair, and turned to go.  Now, as I did so, my foot, by accident, came in contact with the gold-mounted cane I have mentioned, and sent it clattering to the floor.  I was on the point of stooping for it, when a rough hand gripped my shoulder from behind, twisting me savagely about, and I thus found myself staring upon two rows of sharp, white teeth.