"Miss Anita, she'd look mighty pretty ridin' with him, and Pretty Maid is as quiet as a lamb, sir, under the saddle.
I wouldn't answer for her in shafts, sir.

Lord! There's nothin' too devilish for a horse to do in shafts, or hitched to a pole.

Missis McGillicuddy can't see it in this light, judgin' from the Christmas gift she's preparin' to give me." "What is it, McGillicuddy ?" asked the Colonel.
"It's a buggy, sir," answered the Sergeant despondently.

"When I wanted to enlist in the aviation corps that woman, sir, forbid it; she said to me, 'Patrick McGillicuddy, I never did believe one word about your bein' afraid av horses in wheeled vehicles.' An' ivery time I go up in a flyin' machine, just for the fun av it, Missis McGillicuddy, she says to me 'Patrick, if they was to lop off the f from that flyin' machine, it would fit you to a t, bedad!' And that's the way she talks to me when I spent seven dollars and fifty cents in gettin' prognostications that I was goin' to marry a woman as would follow me around like a poodle dog!" "Women have a good many burrs in their convolutions," said the Colonel, lighting a cigar and handing a handful to the Sergeant.
"They has, sir," replied McGillicuddy, accepting the cigars with doleful gratitude, "and Missis McGillicuddy threatens to take me out in that buggy on Christmas day.

Well, sir, I've made my will and settled up my account at the post trader's, and the aviation orficer has promised to tak' me on a fly Christmas Eve morning.