Where did you have it last?"
"I mean Speed, my trainin' partner. That's a French word."
"Oh! We just left him."
"Think I'll hunt him up."
"Wait a minute." Willie came forward. "Let's talk."
"All right. We'll visit. Let her go, professor."
"You've been handlin' him for quite a spell, haven't you?"
"Sure! It's my trainin' that put him where he is. Ask him if it
ain't."
"Then he's a good athlete, is he?"
"Is he good? Huh!" Glass grunted, expressively.
"How fast can he do a hundred yards?"
Larry yawned as if this conversation bored him.
"Oh--about--eight--seconds."
At this amazing declaration Willie paused, as if to thoroughly
digest it.
"Eight seconds!" repeated the little man at length.
"Sure! Depends on how he feels, of course."
Berkeley Fresno, in the corner, snickered audibly, at which the
trainer scowled at him.
"Think he can't do it, eh? Well, he's there four ways from the
ace."
Seeing no evidence that his statement failed to carry conviction
in other quarters at least, Glass went further. It was so easy to
string these simple-minded people that he could not resist the
temptation.
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