"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, à la Tod Sloan in his palmy days. The colt began to draw ahead. From the rear came shrill encouragement.