"Now we're off." And the horses broke into a dog trot.

Now the gait of the red roan mare was a dream of softness, and her flexible ankles gave a play of whole inches to break the jar of every step, the sure sign of the good saddle-horse; but the horse has never been saddled whose trot is really a smooth pace.

The hat of Doctor Byrne began to incline towards his right eye and his spectacles towards his left ear.

He felt a peculiar lightness in the stomach and heaviness in the heart.
"The t-t-t-trot," he ventured to his companion, "is a d-d-d-dam--" "Dr.Byrne!" she cried.
"Whoa!" called Doctor Byrne, and drew mightily in upon the reins.

The red mare stopped as a ball stops when it meets a stout wall; the doctor sprawled along her neck, clinging with arms and legs.