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."