"
Speed shrugged his shoulders indulgently.
"I'm afraid you're a little overweight."
"I'll train down."
"Perhaps if you wait until I beat this cook, I'll take you on."
Glass broke out, in husky indignation: "Sure! Get a rep, Cull,
get a rep!" Then to his employer: "Come on, Wally, you've got to
warm up." He mounted the steps heavily with his protege.
When they had gone, Miss Blake clapped her hands.
"I'm so excited!" she exclaimed. "You see, it's all my doings!
Oh, how I adore athletes!"
"Most young girls do," Fresno smiled, sourly. "My taste runs more
to music." After a moment's meditation, he observed: "Speed
doesn't look like a sprinter to me. I--I'll wager he can't do a
hundred yards in fifteen-two."
"'Fifteen-two' is cribbage," said Miss Blake.
"Fifteen and two-fifths seconds is what I mean."
"Is that fast?"
Fresno smiled, indulgently this time. "Jean's friend Covington
can go the distance in nine and four-fifths seconds. He's a real
sprinter. I think this fellow is a joke."
"Indeed he is _not!_ If Mr.
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