One man was collecting animals for a celebrated stage-route, and the
gamester saw that he was a novice.
"Do you choose that for a good horse?" spoke up Risque, in his practical
way, when the man had set aside a fine, sinewy draught stallion.
"I do!" said the man, shortly.
"Then you have no eye. He has a bad strain. I can lift all his feet but
this one. See! he kicks if I touch it. Walk him now, and you will remark
that it tells on his pace."
The man was convinced and pleased. "You are a judge," he said, glancing
down Risque's dilapidated dress; "I will make it worth something to you
to remain here during the day and assist me."
The imperturbable gamester became a feature of the sale. He was the
best rider on the ground. He put his hard, freckled hand into the jaws
of stallions, and cowed the wickedest mule with his spotted eye. He knew
prices as well as values, and had, withal, a dashing way of bargaining,
which baffled the traders and amused his patron.
"You have saved me much money and many mistakes," said the latter, at
nightfall. "Who are you?"
"I am the man," answered Risque, straightforwardly, "to work on your
stage-line, and I am dead broke."
The man invited Risque to dinner; they rode together on the Champs
Elysees; and next morning at daylight the gamester left Paris without a
thought or a farewell for the Colony.
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