"He give a sigh. I knowed he was no early riser. "'All right,' he says. 'Where'll you be?' "'At the half-mile post,' I says. 'I'll have him warmed up fur you.' "'All right,' he says again--'n' that night I don't sleep none. "When it begins to get a little gray next mawnin' I takes the bird out 'n' gallops him a slow mile with a stiff breezer at the end. But durin' the night I gives up thinkin' Joe'll be there, 'n' I nearly falls off when I comes past the half-mile post, 'n' he's standin' by the fence in a classy overcoat 'n' kid gloves. "He takes off his overcoat, 'n' comes up when I gets down,'n' gives a look at the saddle. "'I can't ride nothin' on that thing,' he says. 'Slip over to the jocks' room 'n' get mine. It's on number three peg--here's the key.' "It's gettin' light fast 'n' I'm afraid of the clockers. "'The sharp-shooters'll be out in a minute,' I says. "'I can't help it,' says Joe. 'I wouldn't ride a bull on that saddle!' "I see there's no use to argue, so I beats it across the center-field, cops the saddle 'n' comes back. I run all the way, but it's gettin' awful light. "'Send him a mile in forty-five 'n' see what he's got left,' I says, as I throws Joe up. "'Right in the notch--if he's got the step,' he says. "I click Jameson's clock on them, as they went away--Joe whisperin' in the bird's ear. The back-stretch was the stretch, startin' from the half. I seen the bird's mouth wide open as they come home, 'n' Joe has double wraps on him. 'He won't beat fifty under that pull!' I says to myself. But when I stops the clock at the finish it was at forty-four-'n'-three-quarters. Joe ain't got a clock to go by neither--that's judgin' pace!--take it from me! "'He's diseased with speed,' says Joe, when he gets down. 'He can do thirty-eight sure--just look at my hands!' "I does a dance a-bowin' to the bird, 'n' Joe stands there laughin' at me, squeezin' the blood back into his mitts. "We leads the hoss to the gate, 'n' there's a booky's clocker named Izzy Goldberg. "'You an exercise-boy now?' he asks Joe. "'Not yet,' says Joe. 'Mu cousin here owns this trick, 'n' I'm givin' him a work.' "'Up kind-a early, ain't you? Say! He's good, ain't he, Joe?' says Izzy; 'n' looks at the bird close. "'Naw, he's a mutt,' says Joe. "'What's he doin' with his mouth open at the end of that mile?' Izzy says, 'n' laughs. "'He only runs it in fifty,' says Joe, careless. 'I takes hold of him 'cause he's bad in front, 'n' he's likely to do a flop when he gets tired. So long, Bud!' Joe says to me, 'n' I takes the bird to the barn. "I'm not thinkin' Izzy ain't wise. It's a cinch Joe don't stall him. Every booky would hear about that work-out by noon. Sure enough the _Item's_ pink sheet has this among the tips the next day: "'Count Noble'--that was the bird's name--'a mile in forty-four. Pulled to a walk at the end. Bet the works on him; his first time out, boys!'