but with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clock
a week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again."

Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads
and saying he was right. The man went on:

"You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters,
have a chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I haven't.

We can't charge more than sixpence a mile after the first,
within the four-mile radius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles

and only took three shillings. I could not get a return fare,
and had to come all the way back; there's twelve miles for the horse

and three shillings for me. After that I had a three-mile fare,
and there were bags and boxes enough to have brought in a good many twopences

if they had been put outside; but you know how people do;
all that could be piled up inside on the front seat were put in

and three heavy boxes went on the top. That was sixpence,
and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for a shilling.

Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillings for me;
there's three shillings still for that horse to earn and nine shillings

for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course,
it is not always so bad as that, but you know it often is,

and I say 'tis a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse,
for when a beast is downright tired there's nothing but the whip

that will keep his legs a-going; you can't help yourself --
you must put your wife and children before the horse; the masters must

look to that, we can't. I don't ill-use my horse for the sake of it;
none of you can say I do. There's wrong lays somewhere --

never a day's rest, never a quiet hour with the wife and children.
I often feel like an old man, though I'm only forty-five.

You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us of cheating
and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses in their hands

counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we were pickpockets.
I wish some of 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen hours a day

and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside,
and that in all weathers; they would not be so uncommon particular

never to give us a sixpence over or to cram all the luggage inside.
Of course, some of 'em tip us pretty handsome now and then,

or else we could not live; but you can't depend upon that."
The men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of them said,

"It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong
it is no wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to blow him up?"

Jerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw his face
look so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands

in his pockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat
and wiped his forehead.

"You've beaten me, Sam," he said, "for it's all true,
and I won't cast it up to you any more about the police;

it was the look in that horse's eye that came over me.
It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines for beast,

and who's to mend it I don't know: but anyway you might tell the poor beast
that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way.

Sometimes a kind word is all we can give 'em, poor brutes,
and 'tis wonderful what they do understand."

A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam's cab.
"Halloo!" said one, "what's up with Seedy Sam?"

"He's ill in bed," said the man; "he was taken last night in the yard,
and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning

to say his father was in a high fever and could not get out,
so I'm here instead."

The next morning the same man came again.
"How is Sam?" inquired the governor.

"He's gone," said the man.
"What, gone? You don't mean to say he's dead?"

"Just snuffed out," said the other; "he died at four o'clock this morning;
all yesterday he was raving -- raving about Skinner, and having no Sundays.

`I never had a Sunday's rest,' these were his last words."
No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, "I'll tell you what,

mates, this is a warning for us."
40 Poor Ginger

One day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of the parks
where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours.

The horse was an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat,
and bones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over,

and the fore-legs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay,
and the wind rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature

put out her long thin neck and picked it up, and then turned
and looked about for more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye

that I could not help noticing, and then, as I was thinking
where I had seen that horse before, she looked full at me and said,

"Black Beauty, is that you?"
It was Ginger! but how changed! The beautifullyarched and glossy neck

was now straight, and lank, and fallen in; the clean straight legs
and delicate fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape

with hard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life,
was now full of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides,

and her frequent cough, how bad her breath was.
Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to her

a step or two, that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sad tale
that she had to tell.

After a twelvemonth's run off at Earlshall, she was considered to be fit
for work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while

she got on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual
the old strain returned, and after being rested and doctored

she was again sold. In this way she changed hands several times,
but always getting lower down.

"And so at last," said she, "I was bought by a man who keeps
a number of cabs and horses, and lets them out. You look well off,

and I am glad of it, but I could not tell you what my life has been.
When they found out my weakness they said I was not worth

what they gave for me, and that I must go into one of the low cabs,
and just be used up; that is what they are doing, whipping and working

with never one thought of what I suffer -- they paid for me,
and must get it out of me, they say. The man who hires me now

pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so he has to
get it out of me too; and so it's all the week round and round,

with never a Sunday rest."
I said, "You used to stand up for yourself if you were ill-used."

"Ah!" she said, "I did once, but it's no use; men are strongest,
and if they are cruel and have no feeling, there is nothing that we can do,

but just bear it -- bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come,
I wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do not

suffer pain; I wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent off
to the knackers."

I was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers,
but I could say nothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me,

for she said, "You are the only friend I ever had."
Just then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her

out of the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed.
A short time after this a cart with a dead horse in it passed our cab-stand.

The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was slowly
dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can't speak of them,

the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse with a long, thin neck.
I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was Ginger;

I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if men were
more merciful they would shoot us before we came to such misery.