"The boss, he pullin' his whiskehs an' cookin' up a job on somebody," remarked the hostler.
"Huh!" grunted Mose. "It's time he 'uz doin' somethin'! Betteh not leave it _all_ to Sol'mun!"
The cooking process lasted until evening, by which time Old Man Curry had ceased to comb his beard and was rolling a straw reflectively from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"Find that little rascal Mose and tell him I want to see him."
"I believe I've found the way to rise up!"
"Good news!" ejaculated the startled negro, backing away. But to himself the hostler said: "_Rise up?_ Sweet lan' o' libuhty! I wondeh whut bitin' the ole man now?"
It was a small and very sleepy exercise boy whom Smiley Johnson tossed into the saddle at four o'clock on Saturday morning: a boy whose teeth were chattering, for he was cold.
"Canter him the usual distance, Dutchy," said the owner. "Then set him down, but not for more than half a mile. Understand?"
"Y-yes, sir," stammered the boy, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand.
Johnson slapped Zanzibar on the shoulder, and the colt moved off in the gloom. His rider, whose other name was Herman Getz, huddled himself in the saddle and reflected on several things, including the hard life of an exercise boy, the perils of the dark, and the hot cup of coffee which he would get on his return.
Wrapped in these meditations, he had travelled some distance before he became aware of a dark shape in the road ahead. Coming closer, Herman saw that it was a horse and rider, evidently waiting for him.
The shortest cut to an exercise boy's heart is to address him as Jockey. Herman's heart warmed toward this stranger, and he drew alongside, trying to make out his features in the darkness.
"'Taint Walsh," said Herman, not without regret. "It's Getz."
"Jockey Getz? I don' seem to place you, jock. Where you been ridin'? East?"
"I ain't a jock. I'm only gallopin' 'em. Who are you?"
"Jockey Jones, whut rides faw Misteh Curry. If you ain't a jock, you sutny ought to be. You don't set a hawss like no exercise boy. Thass why I mistook you faw Walsh."
"This jus' one 'em Curry beetles. Whut you got, jock?"
"Well," was the cautious reply, "he ain't done anything yet."
The boys jogged on for some time in silence. "You sutny set him nice an' easy," commented Mose. "Le's breeze 'em a little an' see how you handle a hawss." Mose booted his mount in the ribs, chirruped twice, and the horse broke into a gallop. Herman immediately followed suit, and soon the riders were knee to knee, flying along the lonely road.