That fiend had threatened to kill him,
Lawrence Glass, without preliminary if it became evident that a
fraud had been practiced. Manifestly this was no place for
hysterical confidences. Larry's mouth closed like a trap, while
the Californian watched him intently. At length he did speak, but
in a strangely softened tone, and at utter variance with his
custom.
"Say, Mr. Fresno! Which direction is New York?"
"That way." Fresno pointed to the east, and the other man stared
longingly out through the bunk-house window.
"It's quite a walk, ain't it?"
"Walk?" Berkeley laughed. "It's two or three thousand miles!"
Glass sighed heavily. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothin'. Jest gettin' homesick." He calmed himself with an
effort, entered the gymnasium as if in search of something, and
then set forth to find Speed.
That ecstatic young gentleman wrenched his gaze away from the
blue eyes of Miss Blake to see his trainer signalling him from
afar.
"What is it, Lawrence?"
"Got to see you."
"Presently."
"Nix! I got to see you _now!_" Glass's ruddy face was
blotched, and he seemed to rest in the grip of some blighting
malady.
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