“He can’t have struck a bargain with Sam Nichols,” muttered Abner, apprehensively.  “If he has, it’ll be sort of a swindle on me.  Maybe Nichols has been telling him lies about me.”

Abner waxed so angry over this supposition, that although it was merely conjecture, he already began to consider in what way he could “come up with Sam Nichols.”

“That money would come very handy,” thought Abner.  “There’s a horse worth two of Spitfire, I can get for a hundred and fifty, and that would leave me a hundred.  I wish he would come.”

He looked out of the window, and, not content with that, went out of the front door, and, shading his eyes with his hands, looked up the road.  But he could see nothing of Mr. Richmond.  Abner began to fear that he had lost his bargain.

“I guess I’ll put on my hat and go round to the tavern,” he said to Mrs. Bickford.  “If the gentleman I spoke of should call while I am away, just send the boy around after me as quick as possible.”

“Very well.”

Abner Holden walked hurriedly to the tavern, determined to bring about a bargain, which would be so desirable for him, if it were a possible thing.  He must and would get rid of Spitfire, however many falsehoods he might have to tell.  What was truth in comparison to two hundred and fifty dollars!  Suppose Spitfire should run away with the stranger’s wife and break her limbs, or even her neck, it was everybody’s duty to look out for himself in this world.

Thus reasoned Abner Holden.  There is no particular need of my commenting upon the fallacy of this reasoning, since it is not likely that any of my young readers will sufficiently admire his character to be in any danger of being led into imitation of it.

At the end of a very few minutes, Abner stood on the piazza, of the tavern, a little out of breath with rapid walking.

“Is Mr. Richmond still here?” he inquired of the landlord, anxiously.

“Yes, but he means to leave in five minutes.”

“Where is he?”

“In his room.”

“I want to see him on particular business—­I wish you would send up and ask him to come down.”

“Very well.”

“William,” said the landlord, summoning his son, “go up and tell Mr. Richmond that Mr. Holden wishes to see him.”

“You don’t know of his having bought a horse of Sam Nichols, do you?” asked Abner, nervously, of the landlord.

“No, I am sure he has not.”

Abner felt somewhat relieved by this.  As long as he was still unprovided with a horse, there was still a chance of Spitfire.  He resolved, if necessary, to abate something from the rather high price he had demanded in the morning.

Mr. Richmond followed William downstairs.

“You wish to see me?” he asked, glancing toward Mr. Holden.

“Yes, about the horse you were looking at this morning.”

“I have concluded not to take him,” said the other, coldly.