"Waal, I'll tell you this much. They don't bloat, an' they don't
pamp - much. I don't hold out to be no trotter myself, though I
am free to say I had hopes that way - onct. But I do say, fer I've
seen 'em trained, that a trotter don't trot with his feet: he trots
with his head; an' he does more work - ef you know what that is -
in a week than you er your sire ever done in all your lives. He's
everlastingly at it, a trotter is; an' when he isn't, he's studyin'
haow. You seen 'em trot? Much you hev! You was hitched to a rail,
back o' the stand, in a buckboard with a soap-box nailed on the
slats, an' a frowzy buff'lo atop, while your man peddled rum fer
lemonade to little boys as thought they was actin' manly, till you
was both run off the track an' jailed - you intoed, shufflin',
sway-backed, wind-suckin' skate, you!"

"Don't get het up, Deacon," said Tweezy, quietly. "Now, suh, would
you consider a fox-trot, an' single-foot, an' rack, an' pace, an'
amble, distinctions not worth distinguishin'? I assuah you,
gentlemen, there was a time befo' I was afflicted in my hip, if
you'll pardon me, Miss Tuck, when I was quite celebrated in Paduky
for all those gaits; an in my opinion the Deacon's co'rect when he
says that a ho'se of any position in society gets his gaits by his
haid, an' not by - his, ah, limbs, Miss Tuck. I reckon I'm very
little good now, but I'm rememberin' the things I used to do befo'
I took to transpo'tin' real estate with the help an' assistance of
this gentleman here." He looked at Muldoon.

"Invijjus arterficial hind legs!" said the ex-carhorse, with a grunt
of contempt. "On de Belt Line we don't reckon no horse wuth his
keep 'less he kin switch de car off de track, run her round on de
cobbles, an' dump her in ag'in ahead o' de truck what's blockin'