P.S. This is a story about past presidents of the United States as horses. IT’S AMAZING.
The ratio of presidents to normal horses in the Barn appears to be constant, eleven: eleven. Rutherford keeps trying and failing to make these numbers add up to some explanation (‘Let’s see, if I am the nineteenth President but the fourth to arrive in the Barn, and if eleven divided by eleven is one, then…hrm, let me start again…). He’s still no closer to figuring out the algorithm that determined their rebirth here. ‘Just because a ratio’s stable doesn’t make it meaningful,’ says James Garfield, a tranquil grey percheron, and Rutherford agrees. Then he goes back to his frantic cosmic arithmetic.
