didn't live very long--that the work killed him? Well,
maybe; it depends on the horse. There's a mare there fifteen years old,
and quite good yet; but seven years does for most of us. What's that
you're giving me? Sugar, did you say? I don't know about that--I'd
rather not; but if you had an apple now, or a bit of bread, I'll eat it
and welcome.'

You see, he was a common horse, this--not a gentleman, but a
good-tempered, nice fellow, that wouldn't give his driver much trouble.
But they're not all like that. Listen now to a cab-horse.

'Did you say you'd been talking to a bus-horse? Nasty low creatures, not
fit to talk to! Now I can tell you all you want to know. Yes, I'm only a
cab-horse now, it's true, but once I was in a gentleman's carriage--one
of a pair, with a coachman and footman on the box, and my lady herself
used to pat my nose and give me sugar. They were grand times then--that
is, they seem grand when I think of them now--very little to do, and we
were scrubbed and polished until our coats were like satin. In the
afternoon we danced round the Park. Yes, I say danced, because there was
a horrid thing called a bearing-rein that hurt us so much that we had to
dance and throw out our legs, and people said it was splendid. It made
me feel so angry that I didn't know what to do. But then I had a bad
temper from the beginning, and it's my temper that has done for me. One
day I wheeled round and leaped over the traces, and kicked the coachman
hard. We were standing in the mews, and I dashed out and ran away, and
the other horse fell down, and the carriage was smashed. Well, then I
was sold, and---- But I'm not going to tell you about that. Yes, I know
it's my own fault, and I know I shouldn't have been a cab-horse if I'd
behaved; but I was wicked, and I used to bite, and now I've been whipped
and beaten until I daren't do anything. Yes, even now I kick, and I hate
my life and I hate my driver. He gives me sugar sometimes, too; but
that's just because he doesn't want me to run away and dash him off his
box, but I shall some day. I shall smash him up against a lamp-post just
because I hate everyone. Oh, it's not a fine life, I can tell you. It's
all very well when I stand here waiting; but perhaps just when I've got
my nose into my bag and begun to eat I hear a sharp whistle twice, and
that means someone wants a hansom, and my master whisks away my bag,
jumps on to his box, and gives me a cut that makes me furious,