Down in a poverty-stricken part of the city lived Blinky Bill, the
horse-dealer.
His yard was surrounded by loose-boxes made of any old timber,
galvanized iron, sheets of roofing-felt, and bark he could gather
together.
He kept all sorts of horses, except good sorts. There were harness
horses, that wouldn't pull, and saddle horses that wouldn't go--or, if
they went, used to fall down. Nearly every animal about the place had
something the matter with it.
When the bailiff dropped in, as he did every two or three weeks, Bill
and he would go out together, and “have a punt” on some of Bill's
ponies, or on somebody else's ponies--the latter for choice. But
periodical punts and occasional sales of horses would not keep the wolf
from the door. Ponies keep on eating whether they are winning or not and
Blinky Bill had got down to the very last pitch of desperation when he
saw the advertisement mentioned at the end of last chapter.
It was like a ray of hope to him. At once there flashed upon him what he
must do.
He must make a great sacrifice; he must sell Sausage II.
Sausage II. was the greatest thirteen-two pony of the day. Time and
again he had gone out to race when, to use William's own words, it was
a blue duck for Bill's chance of keeping afloat; and every time did the
gallant race pony pull his owner through.
Bill owed more to Sausage II. than he owed to his creditors.
Brought up as a pet, the little animal was absolutely trustworthy. He
would carry a lady or a child, or pull a sulky; in fact, it was quite
a common thing for Blinky Bill to drive him in a sulky to a country
meeting and look about him for a likely “mark”. If he could find a fleet
youth with a reputedly fast pony, Bill would offer to “pull the little
cuddy out of the sulky and run yer for a fiver.” Sometimes he got
beaten; but as he never paid, that didn't matter. He did not believe in
fighting; but he would always sooner fight than pay.
But all these devices had left him on his uppers in the end. He had
no feed for his ponies, and no money to buy it; the corn merchant had
written his account off as bad, and had no desire to make it worse.
Under the circumstances, what was he to do? Sausage II. must be sold.
With heavy heart Bill led the pony down to be inspected. He saw Mr.
Algernon de Montgomery Smythers, and measured him with his eye. He saw
it would be no use to talk about racing to him, so he went on the other
track.
He told him that the pony belonged to a Methodist clergyman, who used to
drive him in a “shay”. There are no shays in this country; but Bill had
read the word somewhere, and thought it sounded respectable. “Yus, sir,”
he said, “'e goes lovely in a shay,” and he was just starting off at
twenty words a second, when he was stopped.
Mr. A. de M. Smythers was brusque with his inferiors, and in this he
made a mistake. Instead of listening to all that Blinky Bill said, and
disbelieving it at his leisure, he stopped his talk.
“If you want to sell this pony, dry up,” he said. “I don't believe a
word you say, and it only worries me to hear you lying.”
Fatal mistake! You should never stop a horse-dealer's talk. And call him
anything you like, but never say you doubt his word.
Both these things Mr. Smythers did; and, though he bought the pony at a
high price, yet the insult sank deep into the heart of Blinky Bill.
As the capitalist departed leading the pony, Blinky Bill muttered to
himself, “Ha! ha! Little does he know that he is leading Sausage II.,
the greatest 13.2 pony of the century. Let him beware how he gets
alongside anything. That's all! Blinky Bill may yet be revenged!”