"Just back," he said.
"So I hears," answered the other. "Been teachin' 'em tricks in Horsetralia, ain't he? Went there by way of God's Country, same as per usual, huntin' fer black diamonds. What's he brought back this journey?—a pink-eyed broncho from the Prairees bought for ten cents from a Texas cow-puncher, and guaranteed to show the English plugs the way to move."
Joses wagged a shaggy head. If to retain a sense of humour is still to possess something of a soul, then the fat man was not entirely lost.
"You love Chukkers, don't you?" he said.
"Don't I love all dagos?" asked Monkey. "Sich a pretty little way with 'em they got. Same as a baa-lamb in the meadow 'mong the buttercups."
"Then now I'll tell you something for yourself," said Joses. "He loves all the English—owners, jockeys, and crowd. But he loves you best."
"Never!" cried Monkey, greatly moved. "Then I'm the man what won the Greaser's Heart. It's too much."
A few further inquiries, made by Mat, put the thing beyond question.
Joses was watcher for Jaggers, who trained for Ikey Aaronsohnn, for whom Chukkers rode.
In England, Australia, and the Americas, the three were always spoken of together as the Three J's—Jaggers, the Jockey, and the Jew. Wherever horses raced their fame was great, and amongst the English at least it was evil and ominous.