"Looks like business." Stover's admiration was keen. "I rode over
to Gallagher's place last night and laid our bets."
"How much have you wagered?" asked Fresno.
"More'n we can afford to lose."
"But you aren't going to lose," Miss Blake said,
enthusiastically.
"I got Gallagher to play some records for me."
"_Silas on Fifth Avenue?_"
"Sure! And _The Holy City_, too! Willie stayed out by the
barb-wire fence; he didn't dast to go in. When I come out I found
him ready to cry. That desperado has sure got the heart of a
woman. I reckon he'd commit a murder for that phonograph--he's so
full of sentiment."
Fresno spoke sympathetically.
"It's a fortunate thing for you fellows that Speed came when he
did. I'm anxious for him to beat this cook, and I hate to see him
so careless with his training."
"Careless!" cried Helen.
"What's he done?" inquired Stover.
"Nothing, so far. That's the trouble. He's sure he can win, but"
--Fresno shook his head, doubtfully--"there's such a thing as
overconfidence. No matter how good a man may be, he should take
care of himself.
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