sunny-tempered child who never bears malice, and I don't think he quite
understood. He gets his temper from his mother, as a horse should.

"I've been there too, Rod," said Tedda. "Open confession's good for the
soul, an' all Monroe County knows I've had my experriences."

"But if you will excuse me, suh, that pusson"--Tweezy looked unspeakable
things at the yellow horse--"that pusson who has insulted our
intelligences comes from Kansas. An' what a ho'se of his position,
an' Kansas at that, says cannot, by any stretch of the halter, concern
gentlemen of our position. There's no shadow of equal'ty, suh, not even
for one kick. He's beneath our contempt."

"Let him talk," said Marcus. "It's always interestin' to know what
another horse thinks. It don't tech us."

"An' he talks so, too," said Tuck. "I've never heard anythin' so smart
for a long time."

Again Rod stuck out his jaws sidewise, and went on slowly, as though he
were slugging on a plain bit at the end of a thirty-mile drive:

"I want all you here ter understand thet ther ain't no Kansas, ner no
Kentucky, ner yet no Vermont, in our business. There's jest two kind
o' horse in the United States--them ez can an' will do their work after
bein' properly broke an' handled, an' them as won't. I'm sick an' tired
o' this everlastin' tail-switchin' an' wickerin' abaout one State er
another. A horse kin be proud o' his State, an' swap lies abaout it in
stall or when he's hitched to a block, ef he keers to put in fly-time
that way; but he hain't no right to let that pride o' hisn interfere
with his work, ner to make it an excuse fer claimin' he's different.
That's colts' talk, an' don't you fergit it, Tweezy. An', Marcus, you
remember that hem' a philosopher, an' anxious to save trouble,--fer you
ate,--don't excuse you from jumpin' with all your feet on a slack-jawed,
crazy clay-bank like Boney here. It's leavin' 'em alone that gives 'em
their chance to ruin colts an' kill folks. An', Tuck, waal, you're a
mare anyways--but when a horse comes along an' covers up all his talk o'
killin' with ripplin' brooks, an wavin grass, an' eight quarts of oats
a day free, after killn' his man, don't you be run away with by his yap.
You're too young an' too nervous."

"I'll--I'll have nervous prostration sure ef there's a fight here," said
Tuck, who saw what was in Rod's eye; "I'm--I'm that sympathetic I'd run
away clear to next caounty."

"Yep; I know that kind o' sympathy. Jest la