"What's their kind?" "Long-tailed single-footers, Katrina." "The easiest gait in the world," put in Bob, combatively, disregarding the tails. "It looks so. And not a Derby hat in the whole place except mine." "And not a silk one, except on colored coachmen," added Sydney, maliciously. "Did you drive about?" "I saw all the sights, dear Mrs. Carroll.
If they's single-footers like me an' ain't wedded none; campin' 'round at taverns an' findin' of 'em mockeries; they wishes they has a wife a whole lot. If they be, they wish she'd go visit her folks. Gettin' old that a-way an' lonely makes folks frequent mighty contrary.
Had he turned his eye now to the herd down yonder he could have seen the animal he had selected for a brood-mare next year, the three-year-old destined to draw all eyes as he stepped daintily among the best of the single-footers in Golden Gate Park, the rich red bay gelding that he would mate for a splendid carriage team. . . . Oh, he knew them all like human friends, planned the future for each, the sale of each would be no sorrow but rather a triumph of success.
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