human
How fur did you say 't was now?
gpt
I do' know's I said, Mis' Tobin, answered the driver, with a frosty laugh.
human
You see them big pines, and the side of a barn just this way, with them yellow circus bills? That's my three-mile mark.
gpt
Be we got four more to make? Oh, my laws! mourned Mrs. Tobin.
human
Urge the beast, can't ye, Jeff'son? I ain't used to bein' out in such bleak weather. Seems if I couldn't git my breath. I'm all pinched up and wigglin' with shivers now. 'T ain't no use lettin' the hoss go step-a-ty-step, this fashion.
gpt
Landy me! exclaimed the affronted driver.
human
I don't see why folks expects me to race with the cars. Everybody that gits in wants me to run the hoss to death on the road. I make a good everage o' time, and that's all I _can_ do. Ef you was to go back an' forth every day but Sabbath fur eighteen years, _you'd_ want to ease it all you could, and let those thrash the spokes out o' their wheels that wanted to. North Kilby, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; Sanscrit Pond, Tuesdays, Thu'sdays, an' Saturdays. Me an' the beast's done it eighteen years together, and the creatur' warn't, so to say, young when we begun it, nor I neither. I re'lly didn't know's she'd hold out till this time. There, git up, will ye, old mar'!