'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.
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