National with an other-than-English horse, had given the
Englishmen such a shaking as they had never experienced before.

All over the world, wherever horses were bred, from the Punjab to the
Pampas, and from the Tenterfield Ranges to Old Virginia, he had his
scouts and his stud-farms. It was said that if a wall-eyed pack mule,
carrying quartz in the Nevadas, showed a disposition to gallop and jump
he would be in Ikey's stable in a fortnight, and, if he made good, at
Dewhurst within six months.

It was, of course, with the Walers that the little Levantine came
nearest his desire. He imported them into the old country on a scale
never before dreamed of. Some of them proved themselves great horses,
the equals of the best the English could bring against them: all were
good. And it was only by an act of God, as the enemy English declared,
that Boomerang, the king of them, had failed to win the National and
consummate his owner's long-delayed end.

But Ikey, that merry little rogue, the cup of victory dashed from his
lips, never for a moment lost heart.

As he truly said,

"If I haven't yet found the horse, I've found the jockey that can beat
their best."

And in time he would find the horse, too.

He believed that. So did America.

CHAPTER XVI

The Fat Man

It was notorious that the Three J's (or, to be more exact, Ikey) not
only had their scouts out all over the world, seeking what Monkey Brand
called "black diamonds," but that they had their eyes everywhere in the
Old Country, watching enemy stables. And Joses was the Eye that watched
all the stables on the South Downs from Beachy Head to the Rother--and
Putnam's most of all.

When tackled further on the subject by Monkey Brand, the tout admitted
the fact without demur and even with pride.

"Yes," he swaggered. "I'm a commission agent. A very honourable
profession, too."

"Not ha hartist at all?" queried Monkey, chewing his quid.

Joses laughed and spread himself, throwing back his gingery curls.

"I was at Oxford," he said, "and I've all the tastes of a gentleman. Art
and poetry are my specialties--when my professional duties allow me
time."

The little dark jockey turned in his lips, eyeing the other with bland
interest.

"'Ark to him!" he said. "Don't he talk. Learned the patter at Oxford
College, I expect." He turned on his lame leg. "Anyway, we know now
where we are, Mr. Moses Joses."

* * * * *

After