"
"What's wrong with his trainin'?" demanded Glass.
"I think he ought to have more rest. It's too noisy around the
house; he can't get enough sleep."
"Nor anybody else," agreed Glass, meaningly; "there's too much
singin'."
"That's funny," said Stover. "Music soothes me, no matter how bad
it is. Last night when we come back from the Centipede Mr. Fresno
was singin' _Dearie_, but I dozed right off in the middle of
it. An' it's the same way with cattle. They like it. It's part of
a man's duty when he's night-ridin' a herd to pizen the
atmosphere with melody."
"What I mean to say is this," Fresno hastened to explain. "We
keep late hours at the house, whereas an athlete ought to retire
early and arise with the sun. I thought it would be a good scheme
to have Mr. Speed sleep out here until the race is over, where he
won't be disturbed. Nine o'clock is bedtime for a man in
training."
"Oh, I don't think that is at all necessary," said Miss Blake
quickly.
"We can't afford to spoil his chances," argued the young man.
"There is too much at stake.
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