And for rather more than half an hour the good colt Zanzibar shivered in a cold wind while Herman warmed himself in the genial glow of flattering speeches and honeyed compliments.
"He looks dry now," said Mose at length. "We'll rub him down with grass. See how easy it comes off an' don't leave no marks neither. Mebbe you betteh not say anythin' to yo' boss 'bout this."
"Say, you don't think I'm a fool, do you?"
"Sutny not! I see yo' a pretty wise kid, all right!"
"If I could only get that reg'lar job you was talkin' about!"
"It boun' to come, jock, boun' to come! You be steerin' 'em down 'at ol' stretch one of these days, sure! If we jus' had a li'l wateh, now, we could do a betteh job on 'is hawss."
"He's shakin' a lot, ain't he?" asked Herman.
"Nuhvous, thass all ail him. My side 'mos' clean a'ready; how you gettin' along?"
Smiley Johnson stood at the entrance to his paddock stall shaking hands with acquaintances, slapping his friends on the back, and passing out information. "I don't know a great deal about this horse," he would remark confidently. "He wasn't much account last season—too nervous and high-strung. I'm only sending him to-day to see what he'll do, but of course he never figured to beat horses like Blitzen. Not enough class."
Curly McManus forced his way into Zanzibar's stall and moved to the far corner where Johnson followed him.