ep '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' him. Dere is a way o'
swingin' yer quarters when de driver says, 'Yank her out, boys!' dat
takes a year to learn. Onct yer git onter it, youse kin yank a cable-car
outer a manhole. I don't advertise myself for no circus-horse, but I
knew dat trick better than most, an' dey was good to me in de stables,
fer I saved time on de Belt--an' time's what dey hunt in N' York."

"But the simple child o' nature--" the yellow horse began.

"Oh, go an' unscrew yer splints! You're talkin' through yer bandages,"
said Muldoon, with a horse-laugh. "Dere ain't no loose-box for de simple
child o' nature on de Belt Line, wid de Paris comin' in an' de Teutonic
goin' out, an' de trucks an' de coupe's sayin' things, an' de heavy
freight movin' down fer de Boston boat 'bout t'ree o'clock of an August
afternoon, in de middle of a hot wave when de fat Kanucks an' Western
horses drops dead on de block. De simple child o' nature had better
chase himself inter de water. Every man at de end of his lines is mad
or loaded or silly, an' de cop's madder an' loadeder an' sillier than
de rest. Dey all take it outer de horses. Dere's no wavin' brooks ner
ripplin' grass on de Belt Line. Run her out on de cobbles wid de sparks
flyin', an' stop when de cop slugs you on de bone o' yer nose. Dat's
N'York; see?

"I was always told s'ciety in Noo York was dreffle refined an'
high-toned," said Tuck. "We're lookin' to go there one o' these days,
Nip an' me."

"Oh, you won't see no Belt business where you'll go, miss. De man
dat wants you'll want bad, an' he'll summer you on Long Island er 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