His silence, to such an observer, might have
appeared rather the silence of satisfaction and triumph, than of
disappointment or vexation.
His father, indeed, saw little of him that night, in consequence of the
honest man having preferred the hob of his wealthy and spacious kitchen
to the society of his wife and son in the parlor. The next morning,
however, they met at breakfast, as usual, when Hycy, after some ironical
compliments to his father's good taste, asked him, "if he would do him
the favor to step towards the stable and see his purchase."
"You don't mane Crazy Jane?" said the other, coolly.
"I do," replied Hycy; "and as I set a high value on your opinion,
perhaps you would be kind enough to say what you think of her."
Now, Hycy never for a moment dreamt that his father would have taken him
at his word, and we need hardly say that he was a good deal disconcerted
at the cool manner in which the other expressed his readiness to do so.
"Well, Mr. Burke," he proceeded, when they had reached the stable,
"there she is. Pray what do you think of her?"
The old man looked at her from various points, passed his hand down
her limbs, clapped her on the back, felt her in different places, then
looked at her again. "She's a beauty," said he, "a born beauty like
Billy Neelin's foal; what's this you say you paid for her?"
"Thirty-five pounds.
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