at Newport, wid a winky-pinky silver harness an' an English coachman.
You'll make a star-hitch, you an' yer brother, miss. But I guess
you won't have no nice smooth bar bit. Dey checks 'em, an' dey bangs
deir tails, an' dey bits 'em, de city folk, an' dey says it's
English, ye know, an' dey darsen't cut a horse loose 'ca'se o' de
cops. N' York's no place fer a horse, 'less he's on de Belt, an'
can go round wid de boys. Wisht I was in de Fire Department!"

"But did you never stop to consider the degradin' servitood of it
all?" said the yellow horse.

"You don't stop on de Belt, cully. You're stopped. An' we was all
in de servitood business, man an' horse, an' Jimmy dat sold de
papers. Guess de passengers weren't out to grass neither, by de
way dey acted. I done my turn, an' I'm none o' Barnum's crowd; but
any horse dat's worked on de Belt four years don't train wid no
simple child o' nature - not by de whole length o' N' York."

"But can it be possible that with your experience, and at your time
of life, you do not believe that all horses are free and equal?"
said the yellow horse.

"Not till they're dead," Muldoon answered quietly. "An' den it
depends on de gross total o' buttons an' mucilage dey gits outer
youse at Barren Island."

"They tell me you're a prominent philosopher." The yellow horse
turned to Marcus. "Can you deny a basic and pivotal statement such
as this?"