e inalienable oats? Dey weigh like Sam
Hill, an' sixty bushel at dat allowance ain't goin' to last t'ree weeks
here. An' dere's de winter hay for five mont's!"

"We can settle those minor details when the great cause is won," said
the yellow horse. "Let us return simply but grandly to our inalienable
rights--the right o' freedom on these yere verdant hills, an' no
invijjus distinctions o' track an' pedigree:"

"What in stables 'jer call an invijjus distinction?" said the Deacon,
stiffly.

"Fer one thing, bein' a bloated, pampered trotter jest because you
happen to be raised that way, an' couldn't no more help trottin' than
eatin'."

"Do ye know anythin' about trotters?" said the Deacon.

"I've seen 'em trot. That was enough for me. I don't want to know any
more. Trottin''s immoral."

"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 ke