itin' 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.

"Don't let him get hot, now!"

"No, sir; I won't."

"All right. Take him away!"

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.

"Howdy, Jockey Walsh!" called a voice.

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."

"What horse is that?"

"This jus' one 'em Curry beetles. Whut you got, jock?"

"Zanzibar."

"Any good?"

"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.

"Shake him up, jock!" urged Little Mose. "That all you kin get out of
him? Shake him up, if you knows how!"

Of course Herman could not allow any one to hint that he did not know
how. He went out on Zanzibar's neck and shook him up vigorously, a la
Tod Sloan in his palmy days. The colt began to draw ahead. From the