Two red-hot steamboats raging along, neck-and-neck, straining every nerve--that is to say, every rivet in the boilers--quaking and shaking and groaning from stem to stern, spouting white steam from the pipes, pouring black smoke from the chimneys, raining down sparks, parting the river into long breaks of hissing foam--this is sport that makes a body's very liver curl with enjoyment.

A horse-race is pretty tame and colorless in comparison.

Still, a horse-race might be well enough, in its way, perhaps, if it were not for the tiresome false starts.

But then, nobody is ever killed.

At least, nobody was ever killed when I was at a horse-race.