“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 inte_res_tin’ 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 bein’ a philosopher, an’ anxious to save trouble,—fer you _are_,—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_ killin’ 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 lasts long enough to start a fuss, an’ then lights aout to make new trouble. I hain’t been ten years in harness fer nuthin’. Naow, we’re goin’ to keep school with Boney fer a spell.” “Say, look a-here, you ain’t goin’ to hurt me, are you? Remember, I belong to a man in town,” cried the yellow horse, uneasily. Muldoon kept behind him so that he could not run away. “I know it. There must be some pore delooded fool in this State hez a right to the loose end o’ your hitchin’-strap. I’m blame sorry fer him, but he shall hev his rights when we’re through with you,” said Rod. “If it’s all the same, gentlemen, I’d ruther change pasture. Guess I’ll do it now.” “Can’t always have your ’druthers. Guess you won’t,” said Rod.