"
Glass examined the bow of ribbon upon the lonesome piece of
exercising apparatus.
"It looks like the trainin'-stable for the Colonial Dames. What a
yelp this place would be to Covington or any other athlete."
"It is not an athletic gymnasium." Speed smiled as he lighted a
cigarette. "It is a romantic gymnasium. As Socrates once
observed--"
"Socrates! I'm hep to him," Glass interrupted, quickly. "I
trained a Greek professor once and got wised up on all that
stuff. Socrates was the--the Hemlock Kid."
"Exactly! As Socrates, the Hemlock Kid, deftly put it, '_In hoc
signature vintage_.'"
"I don't get you."
"That is archaic Scandinavian, and, translated, means, 'Love
cannot thrive without her bower.'"
"No answer to that telegram yet, eh?"
"Hardly time."
"Better wire Covington again, hadn't you? Mebbe he didn't get
it?"
"I promised Mrs. Keap that I would, but--" Speed lost himself
abruptly in speculation, for he did not know exactly how to
manage this unexpected complication. Of one thing only was he
certain: it would require some thought.
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