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Rh stamping iron. Montague Smith assured himself that it was really hot.

"So you were going to brand the team, eh?" questioned the part owner of the battery works, harshly.

"No, sir, I was only going to—to stamp a box, sir," stammered the truckman.

"What box?"

"One of the—er—the one on the truck, sir."

"Most likely," sneered Montague Smith. "Don't you know that that team cost six hundred dollars?" He turned to Franklin. "So you stopped him, did you?"

"Yes, sir. But before he got the iron he used the whip most shamefully. That was what made me angry. I can't bear to see a horse mistreated."

"It ain't so!" howled the truckman. I know my business! I only tapped 'em a little—"

"No more. Bitters. You are drunk, and I know just how you act when you are that way," said Montague Smith, cutting the man short. "I told you before I wouldn't have the horses abused. I'll take a look at them."

The part owner of the works, sprang to the ground and began to inspect the animals. He was a sporty young man and knew more about horseflesh than he did about his regular business. He readily noted how the whip had been applied, and his face took on a hard and ugly look.