47 Hard Times

           

           MynewmasterIshallneverforget;hehadblackeyesandahookednose,hismouthwasasfullofteethasabull-dog’s,andhisvoicewasasharshasthegrindingofcartwheelsovergraveledstones.HisnamewasNicholasSkinner,andIbelievehewasthemanthatpoorSeedySamdrovefor.

           Ihaveheardmensaythatseeingisbelieving;butIshouldsaythatfeelingisbelieving;formuchasIhadseenbefore,Ineverknewtillnowtheuttermiseryofacab-horse’slife.

           Skinnerhadalowsetofcabsandalowsetofdrivers;hewashardonthemen,andthemenwerehardonthehorses.InthisplacewehadnoSundayrest,anditwasintheheatofsummer.

           SometimesonaSundaymorningapartyoffastmenwouldhirethecabfortheday;fouroftheminsideandanotherwiththedriver,andIhadtotakethemtenorfifteenmilesoutintothecountry,andbackagain;neverwouldanyofthemgetdowntowalkupahill,letitbeeversosteep,orthedayeversohot—unless,indeed,whenthedriverwasafraidIshouldnotmanageit,andsometimesIwassofeveredandwornthatIcouldhardlytouchmyfood.HowIusedtolongforthenicebranmashwithniterinitthatJerryusedtogiveusonSaturdaynightsinhotweather,thatusedtocoolusdownandmakeussocomfortable.Thenwehadtwonightsandawholedayforunbrokenrest,andonMondaymorningwewereasfreshasyounghorsesagain;butheretherewasnorest,andmydriverwasjustashardashismaster.

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