How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Year's: And Other StoriesMurray, W. H. H. (William Henry Harrison)
General
How Deacon Tubman and Parson Whitney Kept New Year's: And Other Stories
Murray, W. H. H. (William Henry Harrison)
Fiction; Short stories
With muzzle lifted well up, tail erect, the few hairs in it streaming
straight behind, one ear pricked forward and the other turned sharply
back, the great horse swept grandly along at a pace that was rapidly
bringing him even with the rear line of the flying group. And yet so
little was the pace to him that he fairly gamboled in playfulness as he
went slashing along, until the deacon verily began to fear that the
honest old chap would break through all the bounds of propriety and send
his heels anticly through his treasured dashboard. Indeed, the spectacle
that the huge horse presented was so magnificent and his action so free,
spirited and playful, as he came sweeping onward that the cheers, such
as "Good heavens! see the deacon's old horse!" "Look at him! look at
him!" "What a stride!" 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 stifles playing well out, brought his hand
down 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, 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.
[Illustration: "_Jack was going nigh to a thirty clip!_"]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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