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Updated: June 5, 2025
He neveh got up agin a syndicate bettin' ring an' crooked judgin'. He neveh rode no close finish 'ith Irish jocks an' had his shin barked on 'e fence. You kin take Sol'mun's word faw it, boss, but li'l Moseby, he's f'um Mizzoury. He'll steal a flyin' start nex' time out an' try to stay so far in front that no Irish boy kin reach him 'ith a lariat!"
Dawn was breaking when Jockey Moseby Jones emerged from the tack room to find Old Man Curry and Pharaoh waiting for him. As they were walking to the track the owner gave his orders. "One trouble with this hoss," said he, "is that the boy who has been ridin' him wasn't strong enough in the arms to keep his head up."
Mose, my little nigger, sleeps here too, but I reckon you won't mind him. He's clean." Strange to say, it was Jockey Moseby Jones who minded. He minded very much, in plain English, waylaying Old Man Curry as he made the rounds of the stalls that night, lantern in hand. "This yer Squawkin' Henry, boss, he's a no-good hound. He's no good a-a-atall.
"What is the name of the old family, whose representative is in such a case?" "Moseby," said the Warden. "Their family residence stood within three miles of Braithwaite Hall, but was taken down in the last century, and its place supplied by a grand show-place, built by a Birmingham manufacturer, who also originated here."
Less and dearer coal; lower wages and more ignorant laborers; enormous profits absorbed without mercy into a few pockets. On the day the seventh chapter of this history appeared, the telegraph companies notified me that they would transmit no more of my matter. They feared the consequences in libel suits, explained Moseby, general manager of one of the companies.
The next morning he was on hand early enough to see General Duval return from an exercise gallop, and there was a small black boy on the colt's back. "Come here, Gabe," said Pitkin. "Ain't that Curry's nigger jockey?" "Yes, suh; that's Jockey Moseby Jones, suh." "What's he doing around this stable?" "He kind o' gittin' acquainted with the Gen'al, suh." "Acquainted? What for?"
Now it was at Elijah's heels; the next stride would bring it level with the saddle.... The next stride. All that anyone ever saw was that Jockey Moseby Jones leaned slightly toward the flying Elisha as Merritt drew alongside, and very few spectators saw this much. Who cares to watch a loser when the winner is in sight?
Other owners were cursing the steady downpour, for a wet track would sadly interfere with their plans, but Curry expected to start the chestnut colt Obadiah that afternoon, and Obadiah, as Jockey Moseby Jones was wont to remark, was a mud-running fool on any man's track.
So did the Bald-faced Kid, edging away from the rustic who, with a Cornflower ticket clutched in his sweating palm, seemed to be trying to swallow the thyroid cartilage of his larynx. So did Jockey Moseby Jones, driving straight into the hurricane of cheers which beat down from the packed grand stand. "Elisha! Elisha! Come on, you Elisha!"
Othello was giving an account of his labors during the evening, and from his story it was quite evident that he had been the most important personage in the assembly, and Dinah shone like a bronze Venus with the triumph in his success. "Oh, laws!" said he, suddenly; "I quite forgot!" "What, what?" they asked. "Why, what Mr. Moseby said.
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