Even Cloudy turned
his black eyes upon the young man.
The object of their co-operate gaze shifted his feet
uncomfortably and felt minded to flee, but the situation would
not permit of it. Besides, the affair interested him. His mind
was working rapidly, albeit his words were hesitating.
"I--I'm afraid I'm not in shape to run," he ventured. But Stover
would have none of this modesty, admirable as it might appear.
"Oh, I talked with your trainer just now. I told him you was
tipped off to us as a sprinter."
"What did he say?" inquired Speed, with alarm.
"He said 'no' at first, till I told him who let it out; then he
laughed, and said he guessed you was a runner, but you didn't
work at it regular. I asked him how good you was, and he said
none of the college teams would let you run. That's good enough
for us, Mr. Speed."
"But I'm not in condition," objected the youth, with a sigh of
gratitude at Glass's irony.
"I reckon he knows more about that than you do. We covered that
point too, and Mr. Glass said you was never better than you are
right now.
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