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"When you go talkin' 'bout Job an' Sol'mun an' 'em Bible folks, you got me ridin' on a track I don't know nothin' 'bout. Nothin' a-a-atall." It was Tuesday afternoon and little Mose was struggling into his riding boots.
Old Gabe's eyes bulged as he contemplated the size of his fortune. "All this, suh mine?" "All yours an' you better not miss that six o'clock train. Never can tell what'll happen, you know, Gabe. Pitkin will keep General Duval, I reckon?" Gabe grinned from ear to ear. "I fo'got to tell him so," he chuckled, "but he got both them hosses now. Mist' Curry, whut yo' reckon Sol'mun would say 'bout us?"
Sol'mun was right, but maybe he wouldn't have been if I hadn't done some risin' up myse'f this mawnin'! Whoa, hawss! This where they pay off! We th'oo faw the day!" Old Man Curry was striding down the track from the judges' stand when he met a large man whose face was purple and his language purple also. "Man, don't talk like that!" said Curry reprovingly. "And ca'm down or you'll bust an artery.
The jockey sat up, yawning and knuckling his eyes. "Solomon must have had at least one little black boy," said the old man. "'Love not sleep lest thou come to poverty. Hurry up, Mose!" "Yes, suh," mumbled the drowsy youngster. "Reckon Sol'mun neveh had to gallop a string an' ride 'em too. I sutny earns whut I gits when I git it."
Old Man Curry fell to combing his beard, and Shanghai retreated to the tackle-room where he found Little Mose. "The boss, he pullin' his whiskehs an' cookin' up a job on somebody," remarked the hostler. "Huh!" grunted Mose. "It's time he 'uz doin' somethin'! Betteh not leave it all to Sol'mun!"
"It can't last, Mose," was the calm reply. "'There shall be no reward to the evil man; the candle of the wicked shall be put out." "It burnin' mighty bright jus' now, boss. Sol'mun, he say that?" Old Man Curry nodded, and Little Mose sniffed sceptically. "Uh huh. Sol'mun he neveh got jipped out of seven races in a row!" "Seven, eh!" The old man counted on his fingers. "Why, so it is, Mose!
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