Mose, "I kin do--everything to thisyer
hoss--but stop him. He sutny--do love to run--once he git goin'. All
the way--down the stretch--he was asayin' to me: 'Come on, jock!
Lemme go round again!' Yes, suh, he was beggin' me faw 'notheh mile!"

"Ah-hah," said Old Man Curry. "That's the way it looked to me. Well,
to-morrow we'll let him do that extra mile, but we'll get up earlier.
By an' by when he's ready, we'll let him run four miles an' see how
he finishes an' what the watch says."

Little Mose rolled his eyes thoughtfully.

"Seem like I ain't heard tell of but _one_ fo'mile race," he hinted.
"'Tain't run in Egypt neitheh. They runs it down round 'Frisco. The
Thawntum Stakes is whut they calls it. Boss, you reckon Pharaoh kin
pick up any corn in California?"

Old Man Curry's eyes twinkled, but his voice was stern.

"If I was a little black boy," said he, "an' I was wantin' my boss to
take me on a trip down into Egypt, I wouldn't call it California. If
I knew anything 'bout a four-mile stake race, I'd try to mislay the
name of it. If I had been ridin' a big, hammer-headed hoss, I don't
think I'd mention him except in my prayers. If I was goin' after
corn, I don't believe I'd say so."

Mose listened, nodding from time to time.

"Boss," said he earnestly, "I sutny always did want to see whut
thisyer Egypt looks like. Outside of that, I neveh heard nothin', I
don't know nothin', an' I can't tell nothin'. Beginnin' now, a clam
has got me beat in a talkin' match!"

Old Man Curry smiled and combed his long, white beard.

"That is the very best way," said he, "to earn a trip down into
Egypt. 'A talebearer revealeth secrets, but he that is of a faithful
spirit concealeth the matter.'"

"Thass me all oveh!" chuckled Mose. "I bet I got the faithfulest an'
the concealin'est spirit whut is!"

Port Costa is a small town on the Carquinez Straits, that narrow
ribbon of wind-swept water between San Pablo and Suisun Bays. The
early empire builders, striving to reach the Pacific by rail, found
it necessary to cross the Carquinez Straits, and to that end built a
huge ferryboat capable of swallowing up long overland trains. It was
then that Port Costa came into being: a huddle of hastily constructed
frame saloons along the water front and very little else. All day and
all night the big ferryboat plied between Benicia and Port Costa,
transferring rolling stock. While the trains were being made up on
the Port Costa side passen