The next morning, when I was well-groomed, Polly and Dolly came into the yard to see me and make friends.  Harry had been helping his father since the early morning, and had stated his opinion that I should turn out “a regular brick.”  Polly brought me a slice of apple, and Dolly a piece of bread, and made as much of me as if I had been the Black Beauty of olden time.  It was a great treat to be petted again and talked to in a gentle voice, and I let them see as well as I could that I wished to be friendly.  Polly thought I was very handsome, and a great deal too good for a cab, if it was not for the broken knees.

“Of course there’s no one to tell us whose fault that was,” said Jerry, “and as long as I don’t know I shall give him the benefit of the doubt; for a firmer, neater stepper I never rode.  We’ll call him Jack, after the old one—­shall we, Polly?”

“Do,” she said, “for I like to keep a good name going.”

[Illustration]

Captain went out in the cab all the morning.  Harry came in after school to feed me and give me water.  In the afternoon I was put into the cab.  Jerry took as much pains to see if the collar and bridle fitted comfortably as if he had been John Manly over again.  There was no check-rein, no curb, nothing but a plain ring snaffle.  What a blessing that was!

After driving through the side-street we came to the large cabstand where Jerry had said “Good-night.”  On one side of this wide street were high houses with wonderful shop fronts, and on the other was an old church and churchyard, surrounded by iron palisades.  Alongside these iron rails a number of cabs were drawn up, waiting for passengers; bits 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.