“Wa’al, now!” exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee.
“Yes’m,” said David; “I was stuck in ev’ry sense of the word.”
“What d’ye do?”
“Wa’al, I tried all the tricks I knowed—an’ I could lead him—but when I was in the buggy he wouldn’t stir till he got good an’ ready; ’n’ then he’d start of his own accord an’ go on a spell, an’—”
“Did he keep it up?” Mrs. Bixbee interrupted.
“Wa’al, I s’d say he did. I finely got home with the critter, but I thought one time I’d either hev to lead him or spend the night on the East road. He balked five sep’rate times, varyin’ in length, an’ it was dark when we struck the barn.”
“I should hev thought you’d a wanted to kill him,” said Mrs. Bixbee; “an’ the fellers that sold him to ye, too.”
“The’ was times,” David replied, with a nod of his head, “when if he’d a fell down dead I wouldn’t hev figgered on puttin’ a band on my hat, but it don’t never pay to git mad with a hoss; an’ as fur ’s the feller I bought him of, when I remembered how he told me he’d stand without hitchin’, I swan! I had to laugh. I did, fer a fact. ‘Stand without hitchin’!’ He, he, he!”
“I guess you wouldn’t think it was so awful funny if you hadn’t gone an’ stuck that horse onto Deakin Perkins—an’ I don’t see how you done it.”
“Mebbe that is part of the joke,” David allowed, “an’ I’ll tell ye th’ rest on’t. Th’ next day I hitched the new one to th’ dem’crat wagin an’ put in a lot of straps an’ rope, an’ started off fer the East road agin. He went fust rate till we come to about the place where we had the fust trouble, an’, sure enough, he balked agin. I leaned over an’ hit him a smart cut on the off shoulder, but he only humped a little, an’ never lifted a foot. I hit him another lick, with the selfsame result. Then I got down an’ I strapped that animal so’t he couldn’t move nothin’ but his head an’ tail, an’ got back into the buggy. Wa’al, bom-by, it may ’a’ ben ten minutes, or it may ’a’ ben more or less—it’s slow work settin’ still behind a balkin’ hoss—he was ready to go on his own account, but he couldn’t budge. He kind o’ looked around, much as to say, ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ an’ then he tried another move, an’ then another, but no go. Then I got down an’ took the hopples off an’ then climbed back into the buggy, an’ says ‘Cluck, to him, an’ off he stepped as chipper as could be, an’ we went joggin’ along all right mebbe two mile, an’ when I slowed up, up he come agin. I gin him another clip in the same place on the shoulder, an’ I got down an’ tied him up agin, an’ the same thing happened as before, on’y it didn’t take him quite so long to make up his mind about startin’, an’ we went some further without a hitch. But I had to go through the pufformance the third time before he got it into his head that if he didn’t go when I wanted he couldn’t go when he wanted, an’ that didn’t suit him; an’ when he felt the whip on his shoulder it meant bus’nis.”
“Was that the end of his balkin’?” asked Mrs. Bixbee.
“I had to give him one more go-round,” said David, “an’ after that I didn’t have no more trouble with him. He showed symptoms at times, but a touch of the whip on the shoulder alwus fetched him. I alwus carried them straps, though, till the last two or three times.”
“Wa’al, what’s the deakin kickin’ about, then?” asked Aunt Polly. “You’re jes’ sayin’ you broke him of balkin’.”
“Wa’al,” said David slowly, “some hosses will balk with some folks an’ not with others. You can’t most alwus gen’ally tell.”
“Didn’t the deakin have a chance to try him?”
“He had all the chance he ast fer,” replied David. “Fact is, he done most of the sellin’, as well ’s the buyin’, himself.”
“How’s that?”
“Wa’al,” said David, “it come about like this: After I’d got the hoss where I c’d handle him I begun to think I’d had some int’restin’ an’ valu’ble experience, an’ it wa’n’t scurcely fair to keep it all to myself. I didn’t want no patent on’t, an’ I was willin’ to let some other feller git a piece. So one mornin’, week before last—let’s see, week ago Tuesday it was, an’ a mighty nice mornin’ it was, too—one o’ them days that kind o’ lib’ral up your mind—I allowed to hitch an’ drive up past the deakin’s an’ back, an’ mebbe git somethin’ to strengthen my faith, et cetery, in case I run acrost him. Wa’al, ’s I come along I seen the deakin putterin’ ’round, an’ I waved my hand to him an’ went by a-kitin’. I went up the road a ways an’ killed a little time, an’ when I come back there was the deakin, as I expected. He was leanin’ over the fence, an’ as I jogged up he hailed me, an’ I pulled up.
“ ‘Mornin’, Mr. Harum,’ he says.
“ ‘Mornin’, deakin,’ I says. ‘How are ye? an’ how’s Mis’ Perkins these days?’
“ ‘I’m fair,’ he says; ‘fair to middlin’, but Mis’ Perkins is ailin’ some—as usyul’ he says.”
“They do say,” put in Mrs. Bixbee, “thet Mis’ Perkins don’t hev much of a time herself.”
“Guess she hez all the time the’ is,” answered David. “Wa’al,” he went on, “we passed the time o’ day, an’ talked a spell about the weather an’ all that, an’ finely I straightened up the lines as if I was goin’ on, an’ then I says: ‘Oh, by the way,’
