"A million dollars in Confederate greenbacks," replied the
auctioneer. "Of course they didn't have any value, but just
suppose they'd been U.S.?"
"That's right," agreed Mr. Gibney. "I suppose the swab that owned
the horse starved him until the poor animal figgered that all's
grass that's green. As the feller says, 'Truth is sometimes
stranger than fiction.' If you throw in a saddle and bridle
cheap, I might be induced to invest in one of your old horses,
shipmate."
The auctioneer glanced quickly at Mr. Gibney, but noticing that
worthy's face free from guile, he burst out laughing.
"My sea-faring friend," he said presently, "when we use the term
'old horse,' we use it figuratively. See all this freight stored
here? Well, that's old horses. It's freight from the S.P.
railroad that's never been called for by the consignees, and
after it's in the warehouse a year and isn't called for, we have
an old horse sale and auction it off to the highest bidder.
Savey?"
Mr. Gibney took refuge in a lie. "Of course I do. I was just
kiddin' you, my hearty." (Here Mr. Gibney's glance rested on two
long heavy sugar-pine boxes, or shipping cases. Their joints at
all four corners were cunningly dove-tailed and wire-strapped.
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