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.
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