team, who, after all, did the real work of pulling the stage.
This would have been fine as far as Jon-Tom and the
other passengers were concerned except that the horses had
an unfortunate tendency to break into song as they galloped,
and while their voices were strong and clear, not a one of
them could carry a tune in a bucket. So the passengers
were compelled to suffer a series of endless, screeching
songs all the way through to Timswitty.
When one passenger had the temerity to complain, he
was invited to get out and walk. There were two other
THE DAY OF THE DISSONANCE
19
unscheduled stops along the way as well, once when the
team got hungry and stopped to graze a lush meadow
through which the road conveniently cut, and again when
the two mares got into a heated argument about just who
boasted the daintier fetlocks.
It was dark when they finally pulled into Timswitty.
“Come on,” snapped the lead stallion, “let’s get a
move on back there. Our stable’s waiting. I know you’re
all stuck with only two legs, but that’s no reason for
loafing.”
“Really!” One of the outraged travelers was an elegantly
attired vixen. Gold chains twined through her tail, and her
elaborate hat was badly askew over her ears from the
jouncing the stage had undergone. “I have never been
treated so rudely in my life! I assure you I shall speak to
your line manager at first opportunity,”
“You’re talking to him, sister,” said the stallion. “You
got a complaint, you might as well tell me to my face.”
He looked her up and down. “Me, I think you ought to