t in which Monkey
liberally be-larded him with sirs, was obsequious and deferential; but
he would never cross the door of a public-house, and never, as the
little man reported, "let on."

It was by a chance the seeker came on the clue at last.

One evening he marked his victim down in the Post Office and followed
him quietly. Joses was at the counter sending a telegram. The
postmistress, unable to read the code-address, had asked for
enlightenment.

"Spavin," Joses said; and the secret was out. For all the world knew
that Spavin was the code-address of the shady and successful trainer at
Dewhurst on the Arunvale side of the Downs.

"Who said Jaggers?" came a little voice at his elbow.

The fat man turned to find the jockey close behind him.

"I did," he answered brazenly.

Monkey smiled the smile of a bottle-fed cherub.

"'Ow's my ole pal Chukkers?" he piped.

Joses grinned.

"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.

"Rogues and rasqueals!" Old Mat would say with one of his deep sighs.
"But whatebber should we do without 'em?"

For Putnam's the Three J's had always possessed a particular interest.

Their stable was a