?"

Then for the first time Herman realised that Zanzibar was lathered
with sweat; for the first time also he recalled his instructions.

"I can't take him back like that!" he cried. "Johnson'll kill me! He
told me not to get this horse hot: and look at him!"

"He sutny some _warm_," said Shanghai critically. "He steamin' like a
kettle!"

"Whut if he is?" asked Mose. "We kin fix that all hunky-dory, an'
Johnson, he won't neveh know."

"How can we fix it?"

"Got to let that sweat dry first," warned Shanghai.

"And then wipe it off," said Mose.

"It comes off easy when it's dry," supplemented Shanghai as he
started down the road with the other horse.

"Let him stand a while," said Mose. "We'll tie him up to this tree.
Pity you ain't ridin' some 'em races Johnson's jock tosses off. Once
round that limb's enough. He'll stand."

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.

"Curry is in the betting ring," McManus whispered.

"Well, what of that?"

"He's betting an awful chunk of dough on Elijah; they're giving him 4
and 5 to 1."

"The more he bets the more he'll lose."

"But it ain't