ons, such as, "Good heavens! see the deacon's old horse!"
"Look at him! look at him!" "What a stride!" etc., ran ahead of him, and
old Bill Sykes, a trainer in his day, but now a hanger-on at the
village tavern, or that section of it known as the bar, wiped his
watery eyes with his tremulous fist, as he saw Jack come swinging down,
and, as he swept past with his open gait, powerful stroke, and stiffles
playing well out, brought his hand with a mighty slap against his thigh,
and said, "I'll be blowed if he isn't a regular old timer!"

It was fortunate for the deacon and the parson that the noise and
cheering of the crowd drew the attention of the drivers ahead, or there
would surely have been more than one collision, for the old sleigh was
of such size and strength, the good deacon so unskilled at the reins,
and Jack, who was adding to his momentum with every stride, was going at
so determined a pace, that, had he struck the rear line, with no gap for
him to go through, something serious would surely have happened. But, as
it was, the drivers saw the huge horse, with the cumbrous old sleigh
behind him, bearing down on them at such a gait as made their own speed,
sharp as it was, seem slow, and "pulled out" in time to save
themselves; and so without any mishap the big horse and heavy sleigh
swept through the rear row of racers like an autumn gust through a
cluster of leaves.

By this time the deacon had become somewhat alarmed, for Jack was going
nigh to a thirty clip,--a frightful pace for an inexperienced man to
ride,--and began to put a good strong pressure upon the bit, not
doubting that old Jack--ordinarily the easiest horse in the world to
manage--would take the hint and immediately slow up. But though the huge
horse took the hint, it was exactly in the opposite manner that the
deacon intended he should, for he interpreted the little man's steady
pull as an intimation that his inexperienced driver was getting over his
flurry and beginning to treat him as a big horse ought to be treated in
a race, and that he could now, having got settled to his work, go ahead.
And go ahead he did. The more the deacon pulled, the more the great
horse felt himself steadied and assisted. And so, the harder the good
man tugged at the reins, the more powerfully the machinery of the big
animal ahead of him worked, until the deacon got alarmed, and began to
call upon the horse to stop, crying, "Whoa, Jack! whoa, old boy, I say!
Whoa, will