"Huh! Why not smite some 'em Irish boys first? You reckon 'em crooked judges kin see us when we risin' up?" "We'll have to fix it so's they can't overlook us, Mose." "Ought to git 'em some eyeglasses then," was the sulky response. "Seven and one--that's eight, Mose. We've got Solomon's word for it." Jockey Moseby Jones shook his head doubtfully. "Mebbe so, boss, mebbe so, but thisyere Sol'mun's been dead a lo-o-ng time now. He neveh got up agin a syndicate bettin' ring an' crooked judgin'. He neveh rode no close finish 'ith Irish jocks an' had his shin barked on 'e fence. You kin take Sol'mun's word faw it, boss, but li'l Moseby, he's f'um Mizzoury. He'll steal a flyin' start nex' time out an' try to stay so far in front that no Irish boy kin reach him 'ith a lariat!" A big, jovial-looking man, striding rapidly toward the stables, overtook them from the rear and announced his presence by slapping Old Man Curry resoundingly on the back. "Tough luck!" said he with a grin. "Awful tough luck, but you can't win all the time, you know, old-timer!" "Why, yes," said Curry quietly; "that's a fact, Johnson. Nobody but a hog would want to win _all_ the time. And I wish you wouldn't wallop me on the back thataway. I most nigh swallered my tobacco." Johnson laughed loudly. "How do you like our track?" he asked. "Your track is all right," answered the old man, with just a shade of emphasis placed where it would do the most good. "A visitor don't seem to do very well here, though," he added. "The fortunes of war!" chuckled Johnson. "Ah, hah," said Curry. "My boy here can tell you 'bout that. He says the other jockeys fight him all the way round the track." "Well," said Johnson, "you know why that is, don't you? The boys ain't stuck on his colour, and you can't blame 'em for that, Curry. If you had a boy like Walsh, now, it would be different." "I'll bet it would!" was the emphatic response of Old Man Curry. "I think I can get Walsh for you." "No-o." Old Man Curry dropped his hand on the negro's shoulder. "No. Mose has been ridin' for me quite some time now. He suits me first rate." "You're the doctor," grinned Johnson. "Do as you think best, of course. I'm only telling you how it is." "Thankee. I reckon I'll play the string out the way I started. Luck might change." "Yes, it'll run bad for a while and then turn right round and get worse. So long!" Johnson hurried on toward the stables, laughing loudly at his ancient jest, and Old Man Curry looked after him with a meditative squint in his eyes.