"Sick, eh? Here, get into these!"
"What do you mean, Lawrence?" inquired his victim.
"If you get sick, I die." Glass opened the first sweater, and
half-smothered his protege with it. "Hurry up! You're going into
training!"
CHAPTER XI
That was a terrible hour for J. Wallingford Speed. As for Larry,
once he had grasped the full significance of the telegram, he
became a different person. Some fierce electric charge wrought a
chemical alteration in his every fibre; he became a domineering,
iron-willed autocrat, obsessed by the one idea of his own
preservation, and not hesitating to use physical force when force
became necessary to lessen his peril.
Repeatedly Speed folded his arms over his stomach, rocked in the
throes of anguish, and wailed that he was perishing of cramps;
the trainer only snorted with derision. When he refused to don
the clothes selected for him, Glass fell upon him like a raging
grizzly.
"You won't, eh? We'll see!" Then Speed took refuge in anger, but
the other cried:
"Never mind the hysterics, Bo.
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