of hay were lying about on the ground; some of the men were standing
together talking; some were sitting on their boxes reading the
newspaper; and one or two were feeding their horses with bits of hay,
and giving them a drink of water. We pulled up in the rank at the back
of the last cab. Two or three men came round and began to look at me and
pass their remarks.

"Very good for a funeral," said one.

"Too smart-looking," said another, shaking his head in a very wise way;
"you'll find out something wrong one of these fine mornings, or my name
isn't Jones."

"Well," said Jerry pleasantly, "I suppose I need not find it out till it
find me out, eh? And if so, I'll keep up my spirits a little longer."

Then there came up a broad-faced man, dressed in a great gray coat with
great gray capes and great white buttons, a gray hat, and a blue
comforter loosely tied around his neck; his hair was gray, too; but he
was a jolly-looking fellow, and the other men made way for him. He
looked me all over, as if he had been going to buy me; and then
straightening himself up with a grunt, he said, "He's the right sort for
you, Jerry; I don't care what you gave for him, he'll be worth it." Thus
my character was established on the stand. This man's name was Grant,
but he was called "Gray Grant," or "Governor Grant." He had been the
longest on that stand of any of the men, and he took it upon himself to
settle matters and stop disputes.

The first week of my life as a cab horse was very trying. I had never
been used to London, and the noise, the hurry, the crowds of horses,