“‘Gentlemen, hold up, please; you’ll skeer the old hoss to death. He allers runs away at a pace when he’s skeered. Hold up. Hold up, for heaven’s sake!’
“Jim would let them chase him that way for a mile, till their horse was blown and would go to a break before they’d catch on, and try to sneak away down some side street. Then Jim would holler out:
“‘Gentlemen, don’t never do that no more—don’t never do it ergin, on your life! This old hoss might ’er run erway an’ ruined me! He always would run away in a pace when he got skeered. Learned it when he was a colt—got skeered at a trottin’ hoss haulin’ a load of manure through the medder lot, where he was grazin’, an’ he can’t stan’ it to this day!’ Then he would chuckle out loud and throw this parting shot at them: ‘But, say, young fellers, don’t you wish sumpin’ would skeer that thar trotter of yours, good, once?’
“But the meanest thing Jim and that old pacer did was to break up a love match. It was a young fellow and his girl, and Jim says when he came up behind them their horse was in a slow walk, like they wanted that ride to last forever—and they were so interested in looking in each other’s eyes, and holding hands under the robe, and they never knew that it was daytime and that it was the sun, and not a low-turned gas jet, that was burning overhead. Jim knew the young fellow, and the horse he was driving, too. The horse was quite a fancy looking trotter, just pretty enough to catch anybody’s eye that wanted a Sunday-go-to-meetin’ kind of a horse. He had once taken a tincup record of 2:26¼ by some hook and crook, and on the road for a quarter of a mile, he could trot a buzz-saw clip, as long as he thought he was beating all creation, and didn’t get another crotch in his head—for he had clock works, with a chimes attachment there, and no mistake. There was plenty of room for Jim to go around and let those young people alone, but he saw too good a chance for fun, and that’s what he was out for. He wiggled up right behind the hand-holding pair, and, pulling out a red silk handkerchief, he blew his nose with a terrible blast. He did it to attract their attention and let them know that the rest of the world ‘do move, too,’ but it was more effectual than he had hoped. That chimes-headed horse must have thought it was Gabriel’s trumpet, for he jumped ten feet when Jim gave that blast, shook the lovers like an earthquake and banged the girl’s best hat up against the back of the sleigh. The young fellow pulled his horse down and looked back daggers at Jim, then touched him up and lit out to leave him. This was just what Jim wanted, and he sailed after them in great shape. It was an awful pretty race for about two hundred yards, and then Jim let the old pacer glide up nose and nose with the trotter, who was walling his eye around and already showing signs of quitting with a little more collaring. When Jim did that he heard the girl say excitedly, ‘Oh, Harry, is that horrid old horse going to beat Sir Charles Grandeville?’
“‘I’m just feeling him, now,’ Harry replied. ‘Wait a minute, darling, and I will make him sick. There’s nothing on this road can beat Sir Charles!’
“Jim chuckled and let out a link or two, and the old pacer forged ahead.
“‘Oh, Harry, but he is beating us—hurry up, dear, let him show that 2:20 clip, or lock, or whatever you told me about Just now. O-o-o-o Harry!!’
“This last remark was caused by Sir Charles going into as many different breaks as there are pieces in a jointed snake, while Harry laid the whip on him with something that sounded, under his breath, like ‘Whoa! Dash blank your jumping-jack, white-livered hide! I’ll teach you how to quit every time an ox cart tries to pass you!’
“And as Jim sailed away he heard the girl haughtily and freezingly saying:
“‘Mr. Harry Smith, I’ll thank you, sir, to put me out at the first house you pass! I’m glad I found you out in time. Any man who will beat and swear at his horse as you have done will beat and swear at his wife, and I’ll never marry you, sir, never!’