OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I don’t like to dispute your word; but—(whack)—Oh! that was an abrasion on my shoulder.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—A raw you mean. Who’s not pulling now, I should like to know!
OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I couldn’t help hopping then; you know what a grease I have in my hind leg.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Well, haven’t I a splint and a corn, and ain’t one of my fore fetlocks got a formoses, and my hind legs the stringhalt?
WOMAN.—Stop! stop!
COACHMAN.—Whoo up!—d—n you!
OFF-SIDE HORSE.—There goes my last masticator!
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—And I’m blow’d if he hasn’t jerked my head so that he’s given me a crick in the neck; but never mind; if she does get out here, we shall save the hill.
WOMAN.—Three doors higher up.
COACHMAN.—Chuck! chuck!